Loyalty
by Nyx6
Summary: Continuing the episode 'The Dark Gate'. How will the rest of the town, and Dephine's incoming sisters, react to Adam's plans to give Ross a proper burial? Lots of family support in this one. Posted as a whole.


Well, here it is, the first Bonanza story I ever wrote and the first of my 'exploring hurt/injured/sad Adam' themes. Might be a bit 'twee' in places but I was mostly concerned with getting the characters right. On a side note I'm not sure I was ever able to find out the name of the minister Adam goes to visit – hence the name Thomas which I used a stopgap and then just kept. If anybody actually knows then I'm happy to change it. Anyway, this is basically what I think might have happened if 'The Dark Gate' had been a two-parter, although I am missing the obligatory last-minute shoot-out that would have made it an actual episode!

….

1 – .

Little Joe had always had friends. As far back as Ben could remember his youngest son's natural confidence and daring had acted as a beacon to his peers, drawing like-minded boys with whom Joe had spent his youth variously climbing trees, fishing and making mischief with. He was a leader by nature, and though this trait found limited outlet with his father and eldest brother, it had been free to fly with his friends, boys who, even as they'd grown older and settled into the adult world of providing and putting food on the table, had still remained close. Affectionate drinking partners, sparring opponents and love rivals, each as the occasion merited.

Hoss too had always been popular, albeit for very different reasons, namely ones concerning size. When staring down a schoolyard fight, or divvying up teams, his second son had always been an enthusiastic first-choice, and therefore never particularly short of acquaintances although he'd always liked to be at home as much as gallivanting with friends, besides which, he and Joe had always been the best the friends anyway, with the older more than happy to comply with the demands or hair-brained schemes of the younger – a pattern which seemed likely to remain into old age, for better or for worse.

Adam however, had always been different, not so much lacking in friendship as lacking in intimacy. There'd never been one boy he'd struck up a particular bond with, no small group of tearaways who he'd spent the afternoons skinning his knees with, and no special confidante. He had acquaintances of course, by the barrel-load in fact, men that he could share a drink with, talk with and happily accept into his home or vice-versa, but, particularly as he grew older, these relationships seemed to be undershot with a semi-cautious respect for the authority of the Cartwright name and the clout that came with being both businessman and eldest son. Adam for his part didn't seem to mind, nor had he ever, frequently having turned down invitations from his peers to simply withdraw home to pour over a world atlas or dive into a book of poetry. It wasn't so much that his eldest had been short of offers of close friendship, more that he was indifferent – if not polite in refusal – towards them.

Not that it should have been a surprise at all, considering the factors that had shaped Adam's life and led him into adulthood; the constant moving – not exactly conducive to forming close relationships; the addition of two younger brothers – giving him 'responsibilities' at home from which he was reluctant to be parted; and finally seeing the death of the woman he considered his mother, which probably went some way to explaining why the most emotional attachments Adam seemed to make – romantic or otherwise – were to women, or for that matter, children.

Ross Marquette had breached this rule. Pitching up in town young and naïve, dragged by a tyrannous, over-bearing father and a nervy, yet cosseting mother, Ross had not been prepared for the West and its ways, nor indeed had any of the small family been prepared for the early death of Mr. Marquette Senior – although in many ways this had been a blessing. Offering his help to the fledgling ranchers, Ben had instead dispatched Adam on finding himself too busy to aid, and the result had been a surprising one. In Ross, Adam had found as like-minded, well educated and well read a soul as he had ever come across and an instant friendship had been forged that had only deepened with time. Adam had helped Ross build fences, taught him how to brand cattle, fire a gun and, perhaps most notably, had helped him to overcome his nerves and ask out the pretty strawberry blonde who'd turned up on the stage one day and later agreed to be his wife. In return, Adam had gained a brotherhood without relation, and it had lasted fifteen years.

….

2 – .

It was Ben who broke the silence first, clearing his throat so as to steady his voice yet still wincing at how loud it sounded over the rhythmic clatter of the horses on the dusty track.

"Joe," he began, before pausing slightly to adjust his tone, "I think you'd better go on ahead and tell Roy Coffee we're coming,"

It was an interesting choice of words, a fact that everyone was aware of. _We_ being notably more than just the Cartwright family, _tell_ meaning more than just pre-announcing their arrival.

"Yes Pa."

It was a reluctant response, but a response none the less, Joe clearly torn between wanting to obey his father and stay and offer his eldest brother silent solidarity. Still, the time for consoling Adam would come later, first they needed to see to matters. They needed to see to the Marquettes, both of them, and as Joe pressed forward away from the sombre group and into a canter Ben turned towards his other son with just that very much in mind.

"Hoss, you ride back to the Ponderosa and…" stumbling slightly over the words Ben hushed his tone further, eyes finding out the drooped and exhausted figure of his eldest child and grimacing at the pain he knew the next part of the sentence was going to inflict, "…and bring Delphine into town,"

The look Hoss gave him wasn't much more encouraging, nor was the response, unenthusiastic to the extreme,

"Yes Pa,"

Not that he could be blamed for his reluctance, it was a thankless if necessary task and one that Ben would have taken on himself were it not for the fierce swell of paternal protectiveness rising in his chest, one that had been growing ever since taking in Adam's expressionless face and injured, blood streaked arm. His son was his first priority and everything else at this point was liable to fall to delegation.

He'd been trying to ignore the body draped over the extra horse since they'd set off behind it, but in the absence of Little Joe and Hoss it seemed even more prominent than it had done before, limbs swaying eerily uncontrolled under the steady motion. It didn't even seem like Ross, and somehow the notion that it was him seemed vaguely unthinkable. Spurring his horse on, he rode it past the macabre spectacle and drew in alongside his son.

Adam was slumped in the saddle, leaning heavily to one side and holding himself upright on his remaining good arm. However it wasn't so much his physical state that worried Ben as his mental one. Usually, in a crisis, Ben out of all his sons, could rely on Adam to take a step back and deal with a situation with impartiality, to detach himself and make the best, most balanced decision that could possibly be made, and in so doing square away any emotional repercussions. This however, was different. This was very, very different, and the near-blank look of utter defeat that decorated his eldest son's face gave stark testament to that fact.

"Adam?" it was a tentative query, almost as if Ben suspected it might go unheard, which initially for a second or two it did, the merest half-turn of the dark-haired head in his direction telling him otherwise, although the eyes didn't follow the face, "Son? Are you all right?"

A long sigh responded to him, an exhalation almost as if Adam had been holding his breath. Maybe he had been, maybe he had been for a while.

"When I went up there, I meant to kill him,"

It was a blunt statement, its power only lessened by its emotionless delivery, and for a second Ben thought he had misheard so unlike his son did it seem. Sensing the confusion Adam carried on,

"After what he did to Dell I…" here he tailed off, beaten by the gravity of what he felt, the rest of the sentence going unsaid yet no more words being necessary. Ben swallowed, fighting back his own powerful emotions,

"I know."

"But I couldn't bring myself to do it pa,"

Ben nodded gently, the sentence providing a great sense of relief that he didn't know he'd been waiting for.

"Of course not, he was your friend, "

Adam glanced down suddenly, almost as if re-centering himself, the move the first time he'd broken eye contact with the horizon since they'd found him.

"He didn't know who I was. Took a shot at me…" a wry smile followed, born of despair and heartbreaking to watch, "…it was a good shot too."

Ben's paternal frown slipped across his features once more, comforting in both timing and familiarity.

"Is it bad?"

Another wry smile, even more desolate than the last and for the first time Ben could see the redness around Adam's eyes. In that moment it was as much as he could do not to throw himself from his horse and wrap his boy into a crushing embrace.

"I'll live."

The rest of the slow journey into town was ridden in silence. What was there left to say? The pain was still too raw to try and assuage, and Ben knew better than most that Adam liked to solve his own battles. The best that he, that any of them could do, was simply be present in the background, ready to step in if and when he needed them, which he would do eventually. Adam was a thinker, and there was nothing anyone could offer him now that he hadn't or wasn't already going over in his own mind. Support was all that was left to give and there would be plenty of that.

Roy and Little Joe were already standing outside the undertakers as Ben and Adam ambled quietly up, their lack of pace initially passable as unhurried until the swing of Adam's horse revealed the unridden one towed along behind. The gruesome train was already drawing attention, and as Ross Marquette's name began to be echoed up and down the street Little Joe narrowed his eyes, fierce glares finding out and silencing those beginning to pry. He couldn't blame them, the attention was the same as that conjured by any dead body arriving unexpectedly in the main street of Virginia City and was only natural given the close ties of the community, but the last thing Adam needed was the added scrutiny and if shutting-up the gossips was the way to do that then he was going to see it done. God help anyone who saw fit to pass a comment.

"Ben, Adam," the greeting Roy gave both men was warm but solemn, with a little added weight upon the last.

"Roy," Ben replied, swinging down from the saddle and stepping up onto the boardwalk. Adam followed suit, slower, quietly, standing before the two men as if waiting to be judged, playing the reins of his horse absently through one hand.

For a second nobody said anything, almost as if debating the various pros and cons of speech. Eventually however, Roy Coffee took a deep breath and nodded towards the extra horse, standing contently behind the others.

"We'd best take him inside," he offered gently, glancing across to Little Joe, who was already moving.

"Here, let me get him,"

It wasn't so much an offer as an instruction, and as Ben moved in on the other side Adam stepped up beside Roy, torn between helping and wanting to get as far away as possible. Fortunately others had come to assist and as the makeshift party had gently begun to move Ross from the saddle, Roy had touched Adam on the shoulder and wheeled him away from the spectacle under the pretext of wanting to talk to him. He didn't doubt Adam's actions or innocence for a second but he still needed to hear first-hand, as a friend as much as a lawman and it seemed as good a time as any.

"What happened Adam?"

There was a moment's pause,

"Joe tell you about Delphine?"

It was a simple question, blunt, in the way that Adam Cartwright could sometimes be when he was in the midst of a crisis and trying to save time with the superlatives, but also sad and somewhat haunted, and Roy had to take a breath before replying, the answer getting caught in his throat.

"Yes son, I'm afraid he did."

"I tried to talk to him but he wouldn't listen. He didn't even recognise me. He knew the law was after him – thought I was with them,"

Roy nodded, eyes cast down, knowing that the next question was vital but also that it implied some sort of wavering support, which in a less rational man could have been interpreted wrongly.

"Adam, you know I got to ask, who fired the first shot?"

The eldest Cartwright didn't even flinch.

"Ross…and the second and third."

Roy nodded, a hint of a smile slipping across his face as he tapped Adam supportively on the shoulder.

"All right, best go and get yourself cleaned up now," he offered, touching the brim of his hat in parting and backing up a pace as two familiar figures stepped in to take his place, "Ben, Joe."

"Thanks Roy."

Ben took charge again, reassuming command now that the grisliest of the duties was in hand. Drawing in close he peeled back the half of the jacket covering Adam's arm, trying to ignore the slick of blood as he pulled at the sleeve of his son's shirt, mentally assessing the damage. Adam let him do it with a sigh, dropping his chin against his chest in a combination of weariness and relief. To his other side Joe watched closely, taking in every flicker of physical and mental pain on his older brother's face and feeling it as keenly as if the ache was his.

"How is it Pa?" the youngest asked eventually, tone low but worried enough that Ben shot him a glance,

"Not too bad. Might need sowing," straightening up he addressed the next sentence to Adam, his voice softening accordingly as he replaced the tan jacket and looped a comforting yet guiding hand across the back of his son's neck, "Come on, let's get you to the doctor."

….

3 – .

As it turned out he hadn't needed any stitches, just a thick white bandage, a sling to limit any unnecessary movement and a stern lecturing regarding the importance of giving the wound time to heal and the dangers of re-opening. Adam had sat through the experience numbly, instead letting Ben do all the talking,

"Of course, thank you doctor…yes we'll be careful…"

Little Joe had sat silently in the background, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, trying to fight down the familial desire for revenge that blazed up whenever one of them was hurt. Usually it was a good old-fashioned case of bitching and blistering followed by some justice-based just desserts, but in this case even that option wasn't available and although in many ways that was a blessing, it also made coming to terms with events that much more complicated. Where was the sense in hating a dead man – and Ross of all people?

Hoss had joined them on the slow ride back to the Ponderosa, no one needing to ask why he was driving the wagon, or whether or not he'd accomplished his task, although the thought that Ross and Dell were together again and at peace beside one another did give Adam a momentary flicker of grim contentment, the thought that maybe they could recapture in death what had been lost in life.

Despite his best efforts, Hoss' attempts to tidy up the house had not been utterly successful. The remnants of broken items still lay scattered across the floor, the rug was still screwed up and the low table by the fire still stood at odds with itself from where Adam had hastily shoved it to one side. About the only thing that seemed any different was the absence of Delphine, although the empty space where she had lain suddenly seemed both blessing and reminder.

They were all standing on the threshold, nobody moving and all but one pair of eyes focussed on the same person, struggling with his emotions and fighting down the sudden and almost overwhelming flood of grief, rage and absolute desolation. It was too much, it was just too much.

"Adam," as usual, Ben was the first to speak, no one else trusting themselves to say the right thing, "It's late, do you…want something to eat?"

It was the practical solution to the emotional impasse, as well as the next logical action, the sky long having darkened and their usual dinner hour well and truly forgotten amidst the turmoil. All eyes were on the eldest again, and sensing it, Adam took a long shaky breath and shook his head,

"No thanks Pa. I think I'm just going to go up,"

Ben blinked, his paternal instincts screaming dissent but his response gathered,

"All right son, let me know if you change your mind,"

Adam smiled at him, a small gesture but hugely comforting all the same, three pairs of eyes then watching him hawk-like as he turned to climb the stairs, pace slowed by a mixture of physical pain and mental exhaustion. It wasn't until he had disappeared from sight altogether that they felt it was safe to break the silence once more, Joe starting off with a question that they all of them had been thinking on and off throughout the events of the long afternoon,

"Is he going to be all right Pa?"

"In time," Ben smiled back, the expression weary but comforting although it again carried more of the uncertainty they all felt. Hoss sighed heavily behind them, moving round to stand beside fire, eyes still glued to the stairs as if he could help Adam by simply picturing him there.

"I sure do hate seeing him being so hard on himself,"

Ben nodded sympathetically, eyes for the first time finding out the debris around them and wishing suddenly that he hadn't agreed to Hop Sing's request for a holiday quite as soon as he had. As much as it was a family affair, he was almost wistful for the Chinaman scurrying around with the dustpan and brush and getting under their feet. It would at least have been one less thing to deal with.

"I know son,"

Almost as if following his father's thoughts Little Joe bent down absently to scoop up a piece of cracked china from the floor, his mind elsewhere,

"He tell you how it happened yet?"

"As best he can," Ben replied, knowing that the truth was no better or worse than the versions they were playing out in their own heads, "Your brother went to confront Ross, to bring him to account for what he did to Delphine – ," the intensity lessened at the mention of her name, gazes dropping almost reverently as Ben continued, "But Ross was too far gone for any man to help. He had no recollection of anything or anybody, Adam included. He shot at him, and Adam shot back. There was nothing else he could have done."

The last part of the sentence had not needed inclusion, they none of them doubted it, but somehow saying it and hearing it made it all the more solid a conviction. Not so much a thought as the truth. After all, however hard the day had been, they all of them were immensely glad it was Ross lying in the undertaker's and not Adam. It could just as easily have been the other way around.

In the renewed silence Ben sighed again, casting round the room and sensing the next issue to be dealt with,

"Come on, we'd best tidy up in here. It won't do Adam any good coming down to all this tomorrow."

And for once he wasn't met with even the slightest hint of housework-based dissent.

….

4 – .

Adam couldn't sleep.

Not only that, he couldn't lie down, close his eyes or even contemplate rest. He just couldn't.

His retiring to bed had been something of a ruse, a means to escape the well-meaning but constant attentions of his family. He knew they were all watching him, waiting for him to slip so that they could be there to catch him, but he couldn't cope with being looked at – not when he couldn't look at himself.

It wasn't a case of blame, or even guilt – he hadn't murdered Ross, he had defended himself and he didn't doubt his actions on that account. He was too pragmatic for doubt, always had been. But because he didn't feel guilt he found his emotions less defined, and a lot more difficult to deal with. Remorse, yes, he felt remorse. Remorse that Ross had gone so far that no one had been able to help him. But it was the grief that was the more difficult emotion, the deep-set kind, the kind that pulls down your heart like someone's hung a weight from it and just left it dangling, dragging it under the waves, impossible to buoy up again. He felt empty, and yet at the same time he was in so much emotional turmoil he didn't know how to contain it all.

He certainly couldn't sleep.

He didn't even change – he didn't feel the need too, after all, Little Joe had run into town for a new shirt while they'd been sitting in the doctor's, and since he was in no mood for rest there seemed little to no point in changing for the night.

He'd heard the others come up for bed, heard footsteps come up to his door and a gentle knock against the other side.

"Adam?"

"Come in Pa,"

He'd been lying back on the bed as Ben had entered, staring up at the ceiling, not knowing what else to do.

"You all right son?"

It had seemed like a stupid question the moment he'd asked it, but the corner of Adam's mouth had quirked up in response and the answer had been low, level and just about as typical Adam-Cartwright as Ben had thought possible under the circumstances,

"I'm all right Pa, you go to bed, don't worry about me."

Practical, mature and noble. Bull though, all complete and utter bull, and Ben smiled knowing it.

"I do worry…Adam," hesitatingly slightly, he sat down on the edge the bed, wanting to make a gesture. He as well as any knew that his eldest son dealt with emotions through rationale, but this was not the approach Ben was taking now, "…what happened today – ,"

He didn't get any further,

"I'm all right Pa,"

And although it was still just evasive bravado, Ben nodded, taking the hint although Adam wasn't sure whether the response that followed was acceptance or simple repetition,

"All right," standing up Ben patted him comfortingly on the shoulder, letting his hand linger a moment to squeeze at the shirt, trying to convey all his support through one tiny gesture and wishing he could do more, "Try to get some sleep, eh?"

Adam nodded accordingly, a sudden lump appearing in his throat and stopping him from responding more articulately,

"Sure."

"Good night son."

"Good night Pa."

But sleep didn't happen, at least not for him and slowly he became aware of the sounds of slumber from the other rooms around him. Joe stopping twitching and tossing in his bed, the light from under Ben's door turning out and finally Hoss, snoring.

It felt better being the only one awake, as if he could let his mind wander without fear of its being overheard – metaphorically of course. He felt he had the freedom to respond to his emotions as he saw fit, without being overlooked, and as his brain continued to dot from thought to thought in an erratic, abstract sequence of memories and concerns, he clambered up from his bed and went downstairs.

The lights were all out, the room illuminated only by the glow of the embers in the fire grate, still scorching hot although the necessity to heat had all but retired with the approach of bed-time. The room had been put back to normal, both comforting and gut wrenching all at once, as if what had happened to Delphine had never taken place – which was perhaps one way of dealing with it.

Sitting down heavily on the couch, the hot warmth of the fire enveloping him like an all-encompassing shroud, Adam let his mind wander freely for the first time, eyes glued to the pulsating reds and ambers of the grate before him.

He remembered suddenly teaching Ross to brand cattle, an enterprise that had taken three times as long as it had needed to owing to Ross' reluctance to scorch the young heifer under Adam's hold. As he'd dithered, the cow had dived loose, knocking Adam backwards into a workbench and depositing half-a bucket of water down onto his head. They'd promptly swapped roles.

The Silver Dollar Ranch would undoubtedly have to be sold. Ross didn't have any surviving family, and even if some distant relative could be contacted the chances of them wanting a ranch with nothing but a head of stolen cattle were fairly limited. Besides, Adam was pretty sure the family tree ended with Ross. Mrs. Marquette Snr, had died a couple of years before, with no mention of family, or the appearance of other relatives at the funeral. She'd lasted a lot longer than her husband, her innate need to mother Ross giving her the will to last well into her late seventies. It was a devotion to maternity that had left Delphine very little to do domestically, with cleaning, cooking, washing and darning all fully occupied and with little hope of failing. Instead Delphine had spent her free time riding, painting and reading, cultivating a spark and intelligence for which Ross had loved her even more – much to the chagrin and eternal jealousy of his mother.

Adam didn't know what seemed worse; the ranch he had helped build and watch his friend lovingly transform standing empty, or else being filled with strangers, starting their own Western adventure in which he would take no part.

Delphine had sisters; two in St. Louis, of which Adam could only properly remember one, who had been paired up with him on a rare visit to Virginia City and who had scarcely left him alone for a second the entire week. It had gotten so bad that towards the end Ross had taken to hiding him about the ranch as she had charged through hot on his heels – the ensuing situations causing more than a little hilarity between them, and even Dell once she had completed her familial responsibility and chided them like little boys. The sister however had since married, and so no doubt their appearance would be only to sort out the belongings and arrange the funeral…

…which was another thought; they would need to be wired, unless Roy Coffee had all ready done so, which Adam doubted seeing as very few people knew that Delphine had sisters, and even fewer could remember where they lived. Then of course it would take several days for them to organise themselves and arrive, by which time the funeral should have been taking place. Did that mean he should take matters in hand? He dismissed this thought quickly, no, of course they would want to bury their own sister. Perhaps not even in Virginia City – which was a new thought. Once they heard what had happened however, it wouldn't be a complete surprise. Would they want their sister buried beside her murderer as Adam had more or less assumed would be the case. Would they want a double funeral? Or would Ross' inclusion be too painful given the circumstances?

The thought drew a sudden swell of protectiveness in Adam, a fierce desire to protect his friend from such unfairness, although it was Adam who had conjured the slight in the first place. Ross and Dell were meant to be buried together, they had to be and he knew it was what they would have wanted with more certainty than he'd ever known anything in his life. He would fight to see that it was so, although suddenly the thought of more fighting reminded him just how tired he was, and he settled down across the sofa, injured arm across his chest, head leant back against the armrest.

He was going to have to start things himself, with his first priority being letting Delphine's sisters know the terrible news. The funeral arrangements could be sorted after that, and whatever happened, Adam wasn't going to let Ross down again. It was the very least he could do, his absolution for not being there for him sooner – for either of them.

He didn't even notice he was falling asleep until his eyes closed and he surrendered.

….

5 – .

Adam, by tradition, was and always had been the earliest riser of the family, like a human rooster, rising with uncanny accuracy and without the need for either mechanical or physical intervention. Ben usually followed promptly, tailed some time later by Hoss, Little Joe and a great deal of the world's coffee reserves.

Seeing Adam downstairs before them on that morning therefore, shouldn't have been a great surprise. Only it was.

Adam had been laid out across the couch fast asleep, arm laid awkwardly across his gently rising and falling chest, position relaxed and his face as untroubled by conflict as any of them had seen it for days. None of them knew exactly how he'd come to be on the couch, nor why he was still fully dressed, but the sight itself was more than a little comforting, and unknowingly they had each heaved a silent sigh of relief. Not wishing to disturb his obviously hard-fought slumber, Ben had carefully draped a blanket across his eldest son before shooing his other two into the kitchen for their breakfast, all of them tip-toeing around the room like a trio of overgrown ballet dancers.

By the time Adam awoke an hour or two later, the plates had been cleared away, Hoss and Joe had set off to continue with the round up and the day had well and truly been underway.

It took him a second or two to make sense of his surroundings, blinking up at the ceiling to clear his eyes as they protested at the bright light pouring in through the windows. Turning to lever himself upright, he promptly and painfully remembered his injured arm, hissing in pain as a searing heat tore across the wound, the Doctor's sobering lecture ringing in his ears,

'_For heaven's sake give the wound time to heal – you won't like what happens when the blessed thing reopens…' _

"Adam?" hearing the muffled exclamation from his quiet place at the desk, Ben promptly launched to his feet, crossing the room in three short strides to stand beside the couch and cast down in concern, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," came the somewhat strained reply, as Adam tried to prop himself upright with his one good arm and simultaneously wrestle off the blanket, which at some point had become wrapped around his feet. Ben helped without needing to be asked, placing steadying hands on his son's shoulders and taking some of the weight,

"There you go, easy now…that's better."

Once he was upright Ben moved back, taking a seat in the armchair, eyes still watching keenly,

"You hungry? Hoss saved you some pancakes – they're in the kitchen."

Adam quirked a brow at that one, a frisson of humour evident beneath it,

"Hoss?" he repeated in sarcastic incredulity, watching Ben smile and relax a little in response, as if standing down from active duty,

"They're not half bad you know."

"I think I'll pass all the same,"

"You sure?" Ben frowned, "You've not had anything to eat since yesterday."

Adam nodded,

"I'm sure Pa," and then seeing that this wasn't enough of an answer he amended it slightly, "I'll get something in town."

The frown promptly deepened,

"In town?"

Rubbing a hand absently across the back of his neck as hours of accumulated sleep twinged at his muscles, Adam nodded his response,

"Someone needs to wire Dell's sisters – tell them what happened,"

"Then let me send Hoss or Little Joe, even Roy Coffee could – ,"

"No thanks Pa," Adam interrupted calmly, appreciating the reason for Ben's sudden cosseting but brushing off its immediate necessity, "I think the ride will do me good."

A nod of vague agreement met this statement,

"All right, let me just saddle up my horse and I'll ride in as well."

"Actually, if it's all the same with you, this is something I'd rather do myself."

Ben's expression didn't falter,

"Well surely you can't object to me riding into town with you?" he half-laughed, half-demanded as Adam continued to gaze across at him evenly,

"I'd rather go alone."

Well there was no arguing that one, or at least no _point_ in arguing that one, Ben knew Adam well enough to know when a battle was lost – in this case before it had even started.

"You think that's for the best?"

"I do,"

"Then…" pausing to throw up his hands as if at forces beyond his control, Ben shrugged, mustering something approaching an encouraging smile for his eldest son, "…I can hardly stop you."

"Thanks Pa."

He lifted himself from the couch, keeping his am out away from his body, his movements swifter now that the last remnants of sleep had been shaken off. Ben watched him go from where he sat in his armchair, his whole form aching to shadow his son's every move. The paternal need to guard-over him still pumped freely throughout his veins, triggered anew each time he saw the sling, or sensed even the slightest hint of fatigue or sorrow. It was the reason he had stayed behind rather than ride off for the day's work with Hoss or Joe; his need to keep watch, to stay close. He passed it off easily enough as being for Adam's sake, which in many ways it was, but in many more it was to satisfy himself. It was the same whenever one of his boys got hurt, but there was something different about this, the combination of physical and mental pain, the fact that Adam had had to shoot dead someone he had loved so dearly and more than anything else, the fact that he was bottling it up. Joe would have sniped and bitten their heads off and finally broken down in hot tears, Hoss would have broken something into tiny pieces and then poured his heart out freely but Adam was more of an emotional complexity, an enigma who rarely let on how he was feeling. He was adept with words certainly, but explaining how things were was not the same as explaining how _he_ was. Whether he eventually would or not, was going to be entirely his own decision, and until he made that decision they were all just going to have to be patient.

He emerged from upstairs looking vaguely more refreshed than he had before, the edges of his hair still glistening from where he'd obviously splashed water across his face – a prerequisite of starting the day. He headed straight for the front door, pausing only to grab his jacket and buckle on his gun belt, the routine as standard as if it had been any other day, with the exception of his injured arm slowing up the process a little. Ben waited a moment until Adam was swinging his hat up onto his head before making a final, casual-sounding attempt,

"Last chance to let me ride in with you."

Adam smiled back, the expression not quite reaching his eyes but no less genuine for it,

"I'll be fine Pa,"

And that was how Ben had to let it lie.

….

6 – .

It was early to mid morning when Hoss' stomach started to complain, a full hour ahead of schedule and several decibels lower than it's usual discontented rumble. So loud in fact, that Joe even registered it above the thunderous roar of two hundred trampling cattle. Reining in closer, he let a smile cross his face, part amusement, part long-suffering disbelief,

"You can't be hungry all ready – after everything you ate this morning?!"

Judging by the look on his face, his older brother wasn't any happier about the situation than he was,

"I can't help it Joe," he replied somewhat apologetically, face screwing up in pain – although whether from hunger or shame Joe couldn't quite tell, "It's 'cos we ate in the kitchen this morning 'stead of at the table. My stomach's so confused it doesn't know if it's lunch time, supper time or breakfast time all over again!"

As if to make his point, the grumble sounded again, so loud that even the horses flickered their ears, alert for approaching danger and making Joe smile and roll his eyes all at once. It was true that Hoss had never shown great restraint at meal times, but having taken breakfast in the kitchen had positively unleashed him. His being hungry a mere three hours later seemed positively voracious, not to mention down right hazardous.

"You get all that from eating breakfast in the kitchen?"

"Yeah," replied Hoss in small tones, at least having the decency to look vaguely ashamed. Joe however went to his default settling for the past day; defensive, although on who's behalf wasn't clear.

"Well what else could we do? Lay the table and risk waking Adam with all that banging and crashing?"

Hoss tutted in reply, a sound of contradiction but also of regret that his breakfast lament had inadvertently implicated Adam as the perpetrator of his kitchen-based woes.

"Well no – I didn't mean that," he stumbled in reply, never the most articulate speaker but always the more heartfelt for it, "Of course Adam needed his rest, n' I don't begrudge him one minute of it, 'specially after everything he's been through…it's just that – well, my stomach settles a whole lot better when I've had my breakfast at the table like usual."

Watching his reply Joe couldn't help but smile, picturing Hoss creeping around that morning, desperate – like all of them – not to wake Adam, and nearly tripping over the foot of a chair so closely was he watching his older brother's face for signs of disturbance. Only the timely intervention of Ben's bulk and Joe's speed had stopped the disaster in its tracks and allowed their injured party to sleep on. Banishment to the kitchen had all but been settled from that point on.

Sitting back on his horse and suddenly feeling a little more relaxed, Joe smiled again, pushing back his hat to let some more of the sunshine spill under it onto his face,

"Yeah well, a good night's rest should have done Adam the world of good. Hopefully by tomorrow morning we'll all be eating at the table again."

"I hope so."

Another grumble from Hoss' midriff confirmed this desire, drawing a silent eye roll in response.

"So do I."

To begin with, the pounding of horses' hooves sounded just like that of the cattle, and even closer it sounded like another complaint from Hoss' stomach, which was initially what Joe thought it was. Turning to chastise his brother again however, he noticed the rider drawing in across the grass, catching Hoss' attention and leading him as they both turned their horses for a better view.

The rider was Milt Abbott, one of their hired hands and not exactly renowned for being their sharpest worker. Keen though he was and dedicated beyond reproach, Milt's timekeeping was the stuff of legend, and, despite many lectures on the topic from both Ben and Adam, the cheerful workman still turned up hours – and sometimes days – late, with seemingly little awareness that he was. Getting angry about it only wasted unnecessary energy,

"Morning Mr's Cartwright," came the friendly voice as the horse drew in, standing complacently as the rider stopped to grin amiably across at his employers,

"Morning Milt," Joe replied, Hoss providing a responding grin,

"Milt."

"Saw Adam riding into town," he began without the need for introduction, leaning back in his saddle and lifting off his hat to swipe a hand through his hair. Joe nodded, trying not to seem surprised,

"Pa with him?"

Milt shook his head,

"No, just Adam I reckon," clucking his tongue against his teeth slightly, the hired hand laughed ruefully, replacing his hat and sucking in a long breath, "Though I'm not so sure he's going to like what he finds there."

Both sets of eyes narrowed at once, with Joe beating Hoss to the vernacular,

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means the town's got itself all riled up over Marquette is what it means," he was still shaking his head as he spoke, as if he neither cared nor understood the whole debate himself, and was merely narrating the facts, "Folk saying they don't want him buried on church ground after what he done to that poor woman of his – done been to see the Reverend about it too, got his backing from what I hear."

Throughout the tale, Joe and Hoss had been sharing looks with one another, a single pressing thought occupying both their minds, with the former vocalising it for both of them.

"Adam's not going to like that one bit."

"That's how I figured it – ," Milt shrugged back, " – them being such close friends and all. But if I were him I'd stay out of the way. People in town seem to be spoiling for a fight today, and I think he'd be as likely as any to give it to them."

Joe looked across at Hoss, whose face was set as determinedly as he felt his own becoming,

"Think we'd better ride in and make sure that doesn't happen?"

The elder nodded solemnly, as if sensing trouble before it had even reached them,

"Right ahead of you little brother."

"Jackson!" Joe yelled, his voice just rising above the tread of the cattle and catching the attention of a middle-aged man on the other side, their hired hand extraordinaire whose time-keeping, much like Adam's, represented the opposite to that of Milt Abbott, "Take care of things here. Me and Hoss have to go into town."

A nod met the request and Joe and Hoss wheeled away from the herd, confident it was in safe hands and intending to insure the same thing for Adam.

All they needed was more trouble.

….

7 – .

To say that Adam was angry would have been too vast an understatement to pass as fact – he was livid. On reaching town that morning, his first objective had been to wire some semblance of the news to Delphine's sisters in St. Louis, which he had achieved after some initial wrangling over the wording. It was at the telegram office however, that the bombshell had been dropped on him; the town was up in arms and refusing Ross' burial in the cemetery. His next port of call had then been a prompt and unscheduled trip to the church, which was were he now sat, trying to tame the raw fury inside of him enough to maintain conversation, with the anger fast winning out.

"How can you let them _do_ this!" he exclaimed hotly, slamming a palm down onto the table in frustration, the outburst swiftly cutting off Reverend Thomas mid-sentence. For his part, the priest remained calm, hands folded in front of him, face passive although flickers of unease had been sporadically playing across it, giving Adam all the justification he felt he needed to press the issue further. Not that the Reverend was biting.

"Adam," he replied evenly, spreading his hands wide in response as if in appeal for understanding, "People are upset – they're grieving for a friend who was unjustly taken from them."

"Are you telling me that you think what they're doing is right?"

Thomas paused, the troubled silence speaking volumes, the non-answer even more so,

"I have an obligation to honour the wishes of this community,"

Adam wasn't budging,

"And what about honouring Ross' wishes? Do you not have an obligation to him as well?"

"Of course I do, you know that I tried everything I possibly could to help Ross while he was alive,"

"Yet you're giving up on him in death?" the eldest Cartwright shot back fiercely. It was about as defiant as he'd ever been – or was likely to be – to a man of god, but his justification rang true, "You think this is what Ross would have wanted?"

Standing from the table at which they'd both been bent over, drinking in the air of their argument, the Reverend Thomas sighed heavily, moving over to a window to cast out as if in deep contemplation. Presently he dropped his head,

"Adam, the Ross we knew passed on a long time ago. He was a killer, you know that better than most. I don't think any of us can possibly begin to guess at what Ross would have wanted in the end. That's for the Lord to decide now."

It was not the answer Adam had been looking for and abruptly he changed tack, dropping his tone a little as the emotions began to form a ball in his throat.

"And what about what Dell would have wanted?"

A small pause met the query,

"Adam, Ross killed her, he – ,"

"I know what he did!" came the snapped reply, lessening slightly as Adam re-composed himself, "But of all the things he did, the person he became, Delphine never loved him any less for it, not even for a second. She was scared for him, maybe even scared _of_ him, but she never stopped loving him and she wouldn't want this."

Invoking Delphine's wishes caught Adam slightly by surprise for a second, the passion with which he put forward his convictions as clear as if he had been giving his own. He had known the Marquette's better than anybody else in town, and he _was_ going to see them buried together – even if it ended up killing him in the process.

"I'm sorry Adam," Thomas replied, at least sounding as though he genuinely were and looking Adam directly in the eyes to further this point, "Of course I'll do what I can, but my hands are tied."

Rising from his seat, Adam gazed across the room stonily, not even breaking eye contact as he tipped his hat coolly back onto his head, the pent-up fury creating more of an atmosphere than any raging temper would have done,

"So are mine – to my conscience, as should yours be."

And, piece said, he turned and strode from the room.

Of all the places to visit in Virginia City while nursing a colossal temper, the saloon was not exactly the best – alcohol and wrath never having made good bed mates – but it was where Adam headed now, driven by the half-hearted promise he had made to his father earlier in the day to seek out some form of nourishment. Luckily the establishment was half-empty, with most people taking advantage of the beautiful weather and seeing to any of the jobs they'd put off over the worst of the preceding months. The lack of clientele however didn't stop those who were present from stopping as he walked in, activity stalled by both the events of the previous day, and, probably in no small part to the obvious mood he was in.

He ordered a coffee from the bar – evidently the only one within the place who had done so – and settled back at a table, still not feeling the urge to eat, although whether from grief, anger, exhaustion or all three it was hard to say.

He was still furious, even though the ever-logical part of his brain was trotting out a few counter arguments for the sake of playing devil's advocate. Delphine had been well loved in Virginia City, a regular and benevolent face; customer, friend and benefactor to just about everyone, never known to have possessed anything other than a cheerful disposition and an extraordinary willingness to help. It had been impossible not to like her, and the unjustness of her death was obviously bringing that feeling to the surface. But it was being handled in the wrong way, people were allowing their grief to temper their objectivity and in their desperation to find reason amongst the senselessness they were turning on Ross, who had neither the need nor ability to defend himself. In the end the only people who were going to continue to suffer because of it all were the Marquette's, who'd spent their every waking moment striving to spend time with each other and yet were set to be parted for eternity in death. It just didn't seem right.

"Say Adam," a voice began suddenly from in front of him, jerking him swiftly from his deep reverie and drawing his full attention. Frank Littlewood was staring across the room at him, lent against the bar for support, a half-full beer glass raised in his direction, liquid and suds trickling down the side over the man's fingers and onto the floor, protesting at the sudden vigorous movement, "Let me buy you a drink, 's the least a man can do after you rid this city of that menace…"

The last word was spat contemptuously, and Adam bristled instantly in response. He didn't need to ask who the 'menace' in question was, nor did it need saying.

"…cold-blooded killer," Littlewood continued, tone dropping to a sneer until Adam didn't know whether the man was oblivious or else baiting him, "Shooting him was the best thing you could've done – killing that little woman of his! If he was that tired of her, he could've given her my way – ,"

As a couple of hoots from his drunken friends rang around the room, Adam felt his free fist beginning to curl, his anger creeping up like mercury in a thermometer being dangled into a geyser. Baiting him, Littlewood was definitely baiting him now.

"Don't need scum like that in our cemetery, do we boys?"

The rest of the saloon had gone deathly silent – highly appropriate given the situation – everybody staring awkwardly down into their drinks, or concentrating with before unheard-of intensity at the tabletops. They weren't getting involved, but then again neither was anyone contradicting Littlewood's character assassination, which meant for the large part they didn't disagree.

"Ross Marquette," Adam began slowly, his voice low but clearly on edge, "Was a good friend of many people in this city, myself included. He helped mend fences when they were down and winter was setting in, he helped mend houses were roofs were blown off during the storms, he opened up his hospitality to anyone that needed it, stranger or friend and at some time or other he helped every single person in this room. Is this how he's to be repaid? By being denied a decent burial?"

His tone had been creeping up throughout, rising to a near-shout by the end.

"That may be as well, but Marquette broke whatever chances he had when he started stealing and shooting. Ain't no helping a man like that. If he gets buried in the cemetery, 'longside my little one, I'm passing his grave everyday, so's I can spit on it."

Adam was up from his chair in a second flat, moving so fast that the sudden motion made Littlewood stumble slightly, despite the fact that he'd remained stationary. He put his beer down on the bar to free up his hands in response and the mood changed palpably,

"Whatcha gonna do Cartwright?" Littlewood sneered, the face-to-face contact leaving him a little less sure of himself but unwilling to admit it. In the background his drinking buddies stepped in closer, ready and no doubt willing to move if they had to, "You can't take us all on."

Adam's expression never even faltered,

"I don't want to take you all on, I only want you."

Littlewood laughed,

"With one arm?"

"It would be worth it."

"You'd never even get close."

"I think he would," it was a new voice at the door that made them all turn with the exception of Adam, not needing to look to know that Little Joe had arrived on the scene, undoubtedly flanked by Hoss, not that the change in odds mattered much to Adam – it hadn't mattered in the first place.

"So why don't you fellers all back off a little now, y'hear?" the unmistakeable tones of Hoss interjected next, falsely friendly but deep with warning and proving Adam's hunch right.

Reluctantly Littlewood's friends complied, leaving only their drunken ringleader and his furious opponent staring each other down while everybody else looked on.

"Want to try your luck now?" Adam snapped at him icily.

For a second Littlewood looked as though he might comply, but, after glancing around the room and drinking in each of the Cartwright's separate but murderous expressions, he suddenly un-tensed and turned to lean back against the bar, reclaiming his drink as he did.

"I reckon it can wait 'til another day."

Adam nodded, more a hint of a gesture than an actual one, but visible none-the-less. Feeling his rage starting to simmer down he took a step back, glancing around the gathered faces in the saloon and addressing them in warning tones, loud enough so that everyone could hear.

"Ross Marquette is going to be buried in the cemetery alongside his wife whether the people of this city like it or not. If any man has a problem with that, I suggest they come and speak to me."

And for the second time that day, Adam swept out, a damning parting sentence hanging in the air after him, effecting everyone who was left to contemplate it.

Joe and Hoss let him leave a couple of steps ahead before following, keeping their eyes glued to Adam's would-be assailants before backing out onto the boardwalk. Adam was already mounted outside, evidently waiting for them, although his face seemed to imply that he wasn't going to appreciate light conversation. Hoss responded by not giving him any,

"How're you going to see to it Ross gets buried in the cemetery Adam?" he asked, exchanging looks with Little Joe whose expression seemed to suggest that Hoss would have done better to stay quiet. Adam however heaved a heavy sigh, eyes staring unblinking at an unfixed spot on the wall, his mind clearly elsewhere,

"I don't know," he replied, low and despondent before setting his face in determination and wheeling his horse away from the hitching post, "But I will."

And as they set off to follow him, neither one of his younger brothers doubted it. They didn't dare.

….

8 – .

The room was silent, mood pensive at best. Adam – as he was wont to do when he couldn't disengage his head – was perched before the fire, watching yet unseeing as the orange fingers of the flames fluttered healthily in the grate. Ben was sitting in his armchair to the other side of the hearth, attention ostensibly drawn by the pages of the book propped on his lap, although he was more concerned with the evening's atmosphere. Over at the table Joe and Hoss were pretending to play chequers in much the same way, although nobody had made a move in nearly ten minutes and nobody looked set to make a move for considerably longer than that, eyes drawn towards the solitary figure in front of the fire.

Ben closed his book with a dull thud, catching the attention of his two younger sons but seemingly not that of his elder.

"Adam," he began instead, watching eyes turn in his direction, showing willing but minimal enthusiasm, brain still obviously working in overdrive and not quite ready to give in to outside conversation. Ben's tone was soft, "What are you thinking about son?"

On the surface it seemed a fairly simple question, perhaps with an obvious answer, but in Adam's case things were never simple, thoughtful maybe, considered almost definitely but rarely simple.

Letting loose a long sigh, Adam picked his head up off his hand, settling back a little, not realising the intensity with which he'd been hunched forward and wincing slightly as his back jarred and in turn ricocheted along to stab at the bullet wound. His answer was even,

"Where to go from here."

Hoss and Joe exchanged a quick look across the dining room table, the same thought playing worryingly across their minds. Was Adam thinking of going somewhere? Of leaving? Ben's mind played out several other possibilities, none of them clear,

"What do you mean?"

This time Adam turned to look at him, sensing his answer had been misunderstood.

"I mean, do I defy everyone in Virginia City and do what I know is right? Or do I give in and accept that what Ross did burned every bridge he ever built?"

Ben smiled, a gesture filled with both sadness and pride,

"Not every bridge."

There was a pause as Adam took-in his father's gentle praise, appreciating it.

"Is it too much to expect Dell's sisters to want to bury them together?"

The hesitation that flickered across Ben's face answered Adam's question better than words could have done, and sensing the response the eldest Cartwright boy sighed again, feeling his resolve fast deteriorating. Seeing it and hating it with equal measure, Hoss spoke up from the table,

"Adam, them things that Ross did couldn't be helped, and if'n her sisters are even a half as good n' kind as Miss Delphine was then they'll see it too,"

It was the conviction with which he said it that made everyone smile the most, the sentiments almost as touching as the image they conjured. Nodding in agreement, Little Joe added to the moment,

"That's right. Folks in Virginia City are just angry is all, they'll see sense."

"In time," added Ben.

Appreciating their efforts, and feeling their own support bolster his reserves once more, Adam smiled, trying to seem appreciative but the realities of the situation still pulling down on him,

"Is that time we have?" he asked simply, drawing another sobering silence.

Feeling the mood lowering once more, Ben shifted in his seat, trying to readdress the issue,

"Adam – ,"

"I know Pa," his eldest cut him off gently, "I know you're only trying to help. But Ross' dead, and it's my responsibility to help him find some peace,"

"It's not your responsibility son. It never was. It's all of ours. Your family is in this with you. You don't have to do anything alone."

It was the kind of intercourse that only Ben could deliver, simple, heartfelt and powerful all in one and everyone in the room felt all the more empowered for having heard it.

"He's right Adam," Little Joe added, eyes glittering with intensity and echoed in Hoss' vigorous nod.

It felt good to have his family so firmly behind him – not that he'd doubted them or their support for a second – but it still seemed like a mammoth task, and he couldn't quite shake that feeling of being in a tiny boat on a storm-tossed sea. He felt helpless and the look on his face as he glanced up showed it,

"Then what do I do Pa?"

And suddenly Adam looked like a little boy all over again, staring at his father, asking for help, reaching out for support and finding that Ben was as unlikely to deny him now as he had ever been.

"What you were going to do all along," he responded with conviction, "What you know to be right."

"Even if it means turning the whole town against me?"

Ben shrugged, something akin to a rueful smile on his face. It had been a while since they'd got the town all riled up – they were probably about due another moral crusade anyway, and when the Cartwright's got on their metaphorical high horses there were very few who could reach them.

"Joe's right, people will see sense. Maybe not right away, maybe not even after that. But in time they'll see you did the only thing that could be done – that you did what _had_ to be done."

Outside there was a sudden rumble of thunder, loud enough to shake the ground and rattle the house. It was a testament to the humidity of the past few days but it felt like more than that to the men gathered inside, divine encouragement, the world reacting to their loyalty. In the pause Adam allowed himself a smile, stronger this time,

"It won't be easy," he replied, semi-roguishly, baiting them now and watching them grin in response, glad to see some of his old spark returning.

Ben smiled back,

"Nothing worth doing ever is."

….

9 – .

It was three days since the events between Ross and Adam, but still Virginia City seemed to be in an ugly mood.

Ben had sent Adam up with Little Joe to check on the last few details of the round up, now so far into the final stages as to be practically classed complete. The very fact that the two were even riding out was more formality than function, with Adam going largely to take his mind off his troubles for a morning, and Little Joe accompanying him out of solidarity. Over the past few days Ben had noted a sort of harshness creep into his youngest son, a tensing, as if permanently ready for a battle that hadn't quite come yet. They'd all felt protective of Adam, both his physical and mental pain making them wary of any additional scrutiny or criticism, but Little Joe had been watching his oldest brother like a hawk, his ferocity not so much worrying Ben as amusing him. Adam so rarely needed help, out of all of them he was the most self-assured, the most…well, closed to tell the truth, and the sight of him struggling was difficult to them all, apparently not least the younger brother who'd grown-up under his cool and collected presence. The role-reversal was about as touching a thing to come out of the whole mess as any of them could have hoped for.

In the absence of his oldest and youngest sons, Ben and Hoss had taken the opportunity of driving into town for a few supplies, 'few' at least having been the operative word until Hoss had uncovered a list left in the kitchen by Hop Sing which seemed to stretch on into eternity and was marked across the top with 'URGENT,' one of the few non-kitchen related words that Hop Sing knew how to write in English, and which, even in the insistent Chinaman's absence, compelled Ben to tuck the list obediently into his pocket.

There'd been a few pointed stares as the pair had ridden in, but by and large nobody made their grievances felt towards the Cartwright's unless they had good reason, and particularly not to the Cartwright patriarch concerning a son who was hurting. Ben had a reputation for being the most fiercely protective father in the area and that was not without good reason. Besides, even if anyone had been brave, or perhaps stupid enough to start in about Adam, Hoss was there too, and when it came to protecting family Ben was not the only Cartwright to hold a formidable reputation.

The main collection of items therefore had passed without a hitch – although there had been considerable grumbling from Ben about both necessity and cost – and by the time they were out on the boardwalk, loading their wares onto the wagon they were receiving pleasantries from passing neighbours, and even the occasional polite but hesitant enquiry after Adam's injury.

"Mornin' Ben," chirped a welcomingly familiar voice ten minutes in, pausing as another figure trudged out onto the planks, "Hoss,"

"Well good morning Roy," Ben replied fondly, turning from his workload to greet his long-time friend,

"Roy."

"Adam with you?" the sheriff asked cheerfully, noting the guarded expression that drew down across both men's faces at the request,

"No," Ben responded cautiously, "Should he be?"

Roy blinked and smiled, the sudden shutters-down having little to no effect on him. It had all but been half-expected, he knew how the Cartwright's circled the wagons when something happened to one of them, and he knew the fuss Ross Marquette's proposed funeral had kicked up in town, although he would have liked to think that the Cartwright's knew him as one of their own without his having to say so.

"No," Roy replied absently, "Just wonderin' how that arm of his was coming along that's all,"

Ben's expression softened at once, the guilt at having prematurely judged his friend in evidence,

"Fine Roy, it's coming along just fine. Although I think getting over what happened might take a little longer."

He was rarely so frank about his sons with anyone, but Roy was ingratiated well enough to practically rank as family anyway, besides, he'd always had a particularly good relationship with Adam, respecting his maturity, his considered approach to crisis and his fierce devotion to the law. 'If I'd ever had a son Ben,' he'd once said as the two of them had sat side by side in some stuffy town meeting watching Adam make verbal mincemeat out of some pushy, weekday-businessman-weekend-rancher, 'I like to think he'd be a good deal like your eldest boy there,' to which there hadn't been a lot else to say or do but revel in the pride. Sure Roy was as fond of Joe and Hoss as it was possible to be without relation, but something about Adam's pragmatism had always just hit Roy right.

"That's to be expected Ben," the lawman replied sympathetically, "Adam and Ross Marquette were thicker n' thieves and what happened to him was a mighty shame,"

Ben paused, casting down to the ground, the words creating a sobering effect,

"Yes, it was."

As Hoss came to stand next to his father, indicating that the last of their many, many purchases was on board Ben looked up once more, taking a deep breath and recapturing some of the lost mood as he extended his hand,

"Well, we should be heading back, it looks like we have a small mountain of items to unpack for Hop Sing that will take us well beyond supper time,"

"Aw now Pa, it ain't that much," Hoss interjected good-naturedly from behind him, casting into the wagon and ticking things off on his fingers, "It's just some flour, them funny spices Hop Sing insists on using, some sugar, coffee, salt, some chocolate, them nut-things he puts on cakes, ginger – ,"

"Yes, thank you Hoss," Ben interrupted firmly, seeing the day continuing to slip away from him. Roy chuckled, catching Ben's extended hand and giving it a firm shake,

"You send Adam my best won't you? Joe too."

"Sure I will Roy," Ben replied, watching the lawman turn and start to head across the street before pausing to call back over his shoulder, apparently unconcerned by who was in earshot,

"Oh Ben, I hear Adam's planning a funeral for Ross Marquette, you be sure to let me know when and where now so I can attend,"

Ben's smile broadened, touched by the gesture and his friend's sense of decency,

"Of course, we'll be glad to see you there."

At least not everybody in town was against Adam's plans.

It was just as they were turning to leave that the stage pulled up in town, clunking to something of an inelegant halt as it usually did, and rattling all of the inhabitants for one last time before spitting them out into Virginia City. Ben didn't pay much attention, he'd seen and travelled on the stage far too many times for it's approach to even make a dent on his conscience, but Hoss, who had been watching the passengers depart as he waited for his father's command to leave noticed something that would otherwise have been missed, and reaching over he tapped his father's shoulder a little harder than was strictly necessary,

"Hey Pa,"

"Hoss – ," Ben began somewhat tersely before being swiftly interrupted, his son's attentions clearly somewhere else,

"Don't one of them women look awful familiar to you?"

"Women?" Ben replied before his eyes found them out for himself. Two women, were disembarking from the stage, both of them placed between their forties and fifties and both of them looked tired and unhappy to be there, both were dressed in elegant gowns of the kind worn by city-women who rarely found themselves in country, and crucially, both gowns were black.

Hoss was still staring, his voice hushed,

"I'm sure one of them is that little gal who followed Adam around the entire week a few years back and drove him half mad. Pa, you think they're Delphine's sisters?"

Ben swallowed, the suddenness of their arrival catching him off guard,

"Yes son," he replied gruffly, "I'm afraid they are."

He found himself walking towards them before he knew what he was doing, desperately wracking his brain for their names, trawling back through endless and seemingly inconsequential chit-chat with Ross and Delphine for any inkling that they had been mentioned and fast running out of time.

"Ladies?" he began somewhat tentatively instead, watching both turn towards him, the face of the shorter of the two showing some signs of recognition,

"Mr. Cartwright?" she began, taking some of the pressure off Ben who smiled in response, "Oh I'm so very glad to see you, and Hoss as well," she amended, as his son joined the gathering with a courteous nod,

"Miss Juliette,"

_Juliette_! Ben hissed silently. _Of course! Well done Hoss._

"_Mrs_ now," the shorter woman corrected gently, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. A small pause followed in which Juliette seemingly became aware of the more severe-looking woman standing to her left, "Oh, forgive me, gentlemen, allow me to introduce my sister Mrs. Lilliana Barber. Lili, this is Ben and Hoss Cartwright, Adam's father and brother."

The fact that Adam seemed to need no introductions made Ben half-smile, praise of his eldest son's charms no doubt having reached back to St. Louis in Juliette's enthusiastic gushing of her Wild West experiences. Lilliana Barber nodded once to each of them, a slow and considered gesture as though she wasn't sure they were worthy of it.

"It's a pleasure."

It sounded anything but.

"Indeed," Ben replied gently, "Although I wish our meeting could have been under happier circumstances. May we extend our condolences to you both for your loss, and offer you our hospitality during your stay."

Both women had become notably more maudlin throughout Ben's address, the painful reminder for their visit suddenly coming to the fore again.

"Thank you," Lilliana began coldly after recomposing herself, "But I believe the hotel should be just as sufficient for our needs Mr. Cartwright,"

"Oh no!" Juliette gasped in response, turning to clutch at her elder sister's arm, her short and plump juxtaposing starkly against Lilliana's tall and pinched, "The Ponderosa is the most magnificent house around. It would be a great honour to stay with the Cartwright's, they've had many an esteemed guest. I only hope we won't be a disappointment in comparison,"

It was a fairly overly-dramatic speech, but then the whole situation was less than normal, and so rather than stare at her quizzically as Hoss was doing, Ben instead smiled and nodded his head,

"Of course not. You are very welcome, both of you."

It took Lilliana a second longer to agree, but eventually she nodded, still looking unbelievably reluctant.

"In that case it seems I must thank you again."

"Not at all," Ben responded, turning to his son, eager to end the bizarre exchange, "Hoss, would you get the ladies bags?"

The request drew something of a blank look,

"But Pa! All them ingredients of Hop Sing's – ,"

"Well then move them!" Ben hissed before mellowing slightly for appearances sake, "And then you'd better go back to the Ponderosa and fetch the buggy as well,"

For a moment it looked as though Hoss was going to rebel, but one steely-eyed look from Ben did the trick, bringing grudging compliance.

"Yessir."

He was halfway through pulling one of the cases from the top of the stage when the voice rang out across the street, loud, clear and accusingly,

"Hey! Cartwright!"

Hoss stifled a groan, Frank Littlewood was standing outside the saloon, flanked once again by his friends and once again the worse for wear for alcohol consumption. Ben turned in their direction stiffly, sensing trouble by tone alone.

"You gonna tell them two little ladies how their sister died?" he bellowed, making Ben wince on impact. One thing he knew for certain was that Adam had not let on any details in his wire. He'd informed them that both Delphine and Ross were dead, but not elaborated on how. That was something he'd wanted to do face to face, and now, thanks to the fat inebriate in front of them, he was going to be denied that as well,

"Littlewood – !" Ben began, not quite getting there quick enough,

"You gonna tell them that Ross Marquette went mad and killed her in cold-blood – beat her to death?! That your boy Adam was the one who shot him dead and now he wants to give that murdering coward a decent burial?"

As much for his assassination of the whole series of events as for the sake of Delphine's sisters who were wilting in emotional shock behind him, Ben near exploded,

"Littlewood that's enough!"

And seemingly it was, because several onlookers took it upon themselves to press the drunk back into the saloon. If the women hadn't been there it would have been a very different story.

"Juliette," Ben began somewhat brokenly as he turned back, the distress he found on their faces heartbreaking to witness, "Lilliana, I'm so sorry you had to hear that – ,"

"Is it true?" asked Juliette over her choked back sobs, "Is it true what he said?"

Ben didn't know how to respond, instead letting Hoss do the talking,

"I reckon it is ma'am. For the most part anyways."

Juliette seemed shell-shocked, not crying or beating her breast, but simply standing expressionlessly. The ability to act washed away from her. Instead it was Lilliana who spoke first, regaining her composure enough to make one firm command,

"Take me to her Mr. Cartwright. I want to see my sister."

And although he didn't think it the best idea, Ben could only find one answer with which to respond.

"Of course."

….

10 – .

Speaking both meteorologically and emotionally, the week had been one of changing circumstances, rising temperatures and fluctuating pressures. The storm that had struck a few nights before had continued to rumble back and forth across the territory, replacing the sticky, cloying heat with cool, new air and the refreshing scent of damp, nourished earth.

Under these conditions, riding out to check on the round-up had done to Adam what the past disturbed and fractured nights of half-sleep had not; it had revived him, and for the first time in days he'd felt a certain sense of contentment returning, the excursion giving him the ability to shrug off some of his more immediate worries and return to the otherwise mundane business of day-to-day ranching.

Little Joe had done his best to add to his older brother's good mood, keeping the conversation light and the playful banter high. He and Adam had always conversed most freely when either ribbing or teasing one another, verbally sparring for the victory of having the quickest, most damning riposte. It felt almost normal – apart from Joe's slightly toned-down barbs and the appraising sideways glances he kept shooting across when he thought Adam wasn't watching.

It was a defensiveness that persisted even after they'd arrived at the round-up, Little Joe becoming – if it was possible – more protective of his brother, narrowed gaze finding out any lingering looks and his whole body bristling at the slightest sounds of laughter rising up from the clustered groups of men. Adam had reacted by not reacting, finding it highly unlikely that the men would have been laughing so openly about their employer – and in many cases, their friend – in the first place, besides which he knew he could expect much worse than mere laughter if he continued to press ahead with Ross' funeral. He'd be lucky if he didn't get a public lynching.

"You alright Adam?" Joe had asked once or twice throughout the morning, each time after some imagined slight or other, and each time making Adam smile,

"I'm fine Joe."

Which was how it had stayed until somewhere around late afternoon when Adam had slapped the last of the dust off his shirt and suggested they head back for the day. Not that they had any reason to stay, after all, the round up was well and truly finished and the majority of ranch hands had already dispersed to the saloon with a rapidity that would have more than halved the initial job had they had the fortitude to employ it during working hours. Still, allowing a rare liquid supper was a simple means of congratulating a hard task well done, especially given all the extra work that had gone into finding and re-branding the cattle Ross had stolen, which – Adam noticed with a sort of wry distraction – everybody had made a special point of not mentioning and which had become all the more conspicuous for its absence.

They were half mile from the Ponderosa when Adam suddenly picked up the pace, nudging Sport from the gentle trot he had been keeping alongside Cochise into a more bracing canter. His wound tugged a little in response, but the feel of the wind in his face and the smell of the damp ground being released under the beating hooves overrode the discomfort, and grinning he turned back towards Joe, who had been sitting silently beside him gazing out sternly from under the brim of his hat,

"What's the matter younger brother? Your horse tired?"

"Tired?!" came the reply, as Joe's disposition automatically upgraded to good-natured incredulity, "I'll show you tired _old_-er brother,"

The race was on in the blink of an eye, both mounts rising to a gallop almost simultaneously and neither giving way to the other. Friendly competition mixed quickly with pride and – at least from the point of view of the youngest – mild but quickly forgotten concern. They drew neck and neck as the barn rose up before them, looming large on the landscape between the trees and bottlenecking them together as both maintained pace around the corner and slid to a breathless but exhilarated halt beside the corral, beaming from ear to ear despite the lack of a clear winner.

"Good race Joe," Adam spoke first, sitting astride Sport as if unwilling or unable to get down, "Pity you didn't win,"

"Didn't win?!" came the predictable rejoinder, several octaves higher than usual in support of righteous indignation, "What do you mean _I_ didn't win. You mean _you_ didn't win, that's what you mean!"

Both broke off chuckling softly, the chase having blown away more than a few cobwebs, the competition having woken them up, although apparently it was going to nothing short of a hurricane to blow away Joe's sudden and ever-present concern,

"How's your arm?"

"Protesting," he replied somewhat indifferently, wincing a little as he swung down from his horse and thudded firmly down onto the ground, the pain of the jolt sending a wave of fire from his wrist right up into his shoulder-blade. Maybe given the circumstances, a race hadn't been such a good idea after all.

'_For heaven's sake give the wound time to heal – you won't like what happens when the blessed thing reopens…'_

Still, he was grinning, and pain or not that was the important thing for both of them.

"Hey," it was as he swung down from his own mount that Joe noticed the buggy for the first time, sitting in front of the house, empty but judging from the tracks recently used. Adam followed his gaze instinctively, his expression sobering at once and for the first time that day going unnoticed as Joe continued to frown quizzically across the yard, "I wonder what that's doing out."

"Can't you guess?" Adam's eyes stayed on the house as he answered, replying slowly and almost absently as the thought of what lay ahead succeeded in capturing the majority of his attention – and dread. Little Joe turned back towards him with a frown, his continuing confusion evaporating as he took in the solemn expression he found there and letting the pieces of the puzzle slide into place.

"You think they're here all ready?"

"Wouldn't you be?" it was a question that didn't need answering and in the ensuing silence Adam drew in a long breath, breaking the almost mesmeric intensity with which he'd been viewing the house to glance sideways at his younger brother, "Well," he offered somewhat tentatively in the pause, "I guess we'd better go inside."

Only they didn't get that far, freezing halfway across frontage as the door creaked open to reveal a familiar figure slipping out into the early evening air and obviously trying to be discrete in doing so.

"Hoss? What's going on?"

As Little Joe called out across the yard the largest of his elder brothers started in fright, half slamming the door as he did before remembering himself inches from calamity and levering it shut without so much as a click before turning around with a mixture of annoyance and concern,

"Quiet Little Joe!" he scalded in hushed tones, flapping both hands to emphasise his point. No one spoke again until he'd drawn close,

"Hoss?" it was Adam this time, tone even but underscored with urgency. He didn't even need to ask the rest, nor did Hoss need to reply, the pained expression on his face carrying the bulk of the answer,

"If this sure ain't one big mess…" he responded instead, shaking his head but keeping his eyes locked firmly on his older brother,

"What mess?" Little Joe interjected, not quite interpreting the mental-feed as Adam had done and feeling his temper starting to rise, "Look Hoss, are Delphine's sisters in there or not?"

"Well course they are Joe!" Hoss returned hotly before remembering himself and hushing his voice a little, "Me and Pa met them this morning coming in off the stage. But that ain't even the half of it. Adam…" he started before pausing almost guiltily, "…Frank Littlewood got to 'em afore we could stop him – ,"

"Littlewood!" hissed Joe fiercely, knowing what the revelation would mean and knowing by Adam's gentle groan that he feared the same,

"How much'd he tell them Hoss?" Adam asked quietly, shutting his eyes as the response hit home,

"All of it, the whole darn thing."

"Terrific."

Of all the responses he could have given, the fact that Adam sounded suddenly angry seemed almost comforting to his younger brothers, compared that was, to the alternatives – Adam's temper might not have been his most commendable trait, but it was a familiar emotion and they both found they could bear it comparatively easier than his grief. However, as it turned out, the day's woes were only just beginning.

It was as the anger started to build inside of him that Adam became half-aware of something else requiring his attention through the swirling red mists – Hoss, still standing before him but now shifting awkwardly, a hesitant but pressing look on his face. Clearly, there was more.

"What?"

"Huh?"

Seeing the confusion, Adam slowed his tone punctuating the words deliberately,

"What else are you not saying?"

Little Joe watched the exchange in silence, head flipping from side to side between his brothers and reading the rage and reluctance respectively, both emotions seemingly growing by the second as Hoss grimaced and stalled, moving to scratch absently at an itch on the back of his neck.

"Hoss!" Adam hissed abruptly making them all jump but propelling him into speech at last,

"Pa took them to see Delphine, an'…now, I ain't sure of nothin', but…seems to me like there's talk of them taking her back to St. Louis 'stead of having her buried here."

He finished the last of the explanation with some heavy examination of the ground, not willing to look his brother in the eye for fear of the emotion he might find there but not failing to hear the impassive yet weary-sounding response,

"Because of Ross."

Hoss gave a small nod,

"I reckon so."

"I'm sorry Adam," offered Joe in the following silence, drawing something of a sharp look but none of the heat,

"Don't be," the eldest offered simply, pausing for just a fraction of a second before turning and striding past them towards the house, "I'm not beaten yet."

….

11 – .

To say the afternoon hadn't been awkward would have been to lie fairly spectacularly – it had been excruciating.

In truth, given the circumstances, nobody had expected either Juliette or Lilliana to be the most animated of houseguests, but even given the tragic nature of their visit, Lilliana seemed more difficult than appeared to be strictly necessary; sharp, abrupt, cold and ultimately impossible to please. Her room had been too cold, the Ponderosa had been too isolated and the house had been too unfeminine, and they were just a few of the many complaints that the hosts could still remember.

It was Adam however who had drawn the majority of her censure, albeit silently. Ever since he'd walked through the door earlier that evening, Lilliana Barber had been cool with him to the point of freezing, not so much unfriendly as utterly indifferent, scathing almost, his every attempt at conversation being met with silence and a very definite hardening of features, which, although disconcerting for Adam, did at least allow Juliette to take a leading – and enthusiastic – role in their personal reunion.

'_Adam! I'm so very glad to see you, really I am, truly, do believe me won't you…?'_

And so forth, she, in comparison being gracious to the point of irritating.

By the time they all reached dinner therefore, the mood was about as bleak as they were all feeling and helped none by the cacophonous interruptions of Hop Sing.

Returning home that afternoon from his few, hard-earned days of vacation and expecting to gently ease himself back into the daily tasks of cooking and cleaning, the Chinaman had instead found himself dropped into the middle of yet another Cartwright family crisis, and one which had apparently required urgent dinner for six – or seven, if you counted the two helpings Hoss usually ate. Things had deteriorated even further on discovering the efforts of Ben and Hoss' shopping trip, from which several items had been missing, and the rest of which had been either incorrectly or else somewhat haphazardly unpacked, making things all the more difficult to find and prepare. The fiery cook had not been best pleased and had been busy making it known ever since.

As the sound of loud crash rang abruptly throughout the room – the second in as many minutes – and making them all jump, Ben promptly slid his chair backwards across the floor, pausing only to smile with false levity at their two guests peering at him from across the table; one face quizzical, the other decidedly unimpressed.

"Excuse me a moment ladies."

He offered, the smile sliding from his features the second he turned away from them. By the time he remerged from the kitchen not three minutes later the peace had been restored, although evidently it was going to be a while before Hop Sing got any time off again.

Even without the intervention of the kitchen-based percussion however, the mood at the table remained austere. It was hardly a dinner party for the annals and Adam in particular was starting to feel the heat.

Lilliana continued to worry him. Grief he could understand, he'd felt it keenly enough himself since Ross' death to know that the very last things it inspired were affability and social gregariousness, but with Lilliana it seemed different, not simply grief – although that was undoubtedly mixed up somewhere along the way too – but _contempt_, and most of it seemingly directed his way. Whatever Littlewood had said it certainly seemed to have succeeded, obliterating what had been left of her already fragile mood and apparently taking her appetite along with it.

"You're not hungry Mrs. Barber?" Ben asked in mild concern as the elder of the two women carefully folded her cutlery across the half-eaten plateful, not so much concerned for her as by the thought that at any moment Hop Sing might appear and take unkindly the new slight on his efforts. Lilliana gazed across at him steadily,

"No Mr. Cartwright, I find that, under the circumstances, I am not. Please give my apologies to your cook."

"Why that's quite all right, I'm sure that Hop Sing won't – ," optimism failing him, Ben tailed off uncertainly before smiling, "I'll tell him."

Best to keep it simple.

"I also feel it polite to inform you that my sister and I plan on catching the stagecoach back to St. Louis the day after tomorrow if it can be arranged,"

Ben faltered, unable to check his surprise and feeling it register around the table,

"So soon?"

Lilliana remained impassive,

"We mean to take our poor sister back as soon as possible, and there will be many things to attend to once we are home; preparations for the funeral, burial – ,"

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

The sudden interjection from Adam caught everyone off-guard, gazes turning to fixate on the eldest Cartwright son in turn staring calmly back at them from across the table. He knew the debate had been coming from the moment he'd taken in Lilliana's first icy glare and sensed something of the resilient stubbornness flashing behind her otherwise grief-stricken eyes. Now, here it was, at her own instigation. There was no going back; he'd made his promise to Ross and he meant to keep it.

"Adam!" Ben hissed desperately but seemingly going unheard.

His gaze holding Lilliana's in what he hoped was a non-confrontational expression, Adam continued, his tone unnervingly even,

"I believe that would be a mistake."

"A mistake?" Not quite picking up on the otherwise evident waves of tension radiating up and down the table, Juliette snorted in mild amusement, clearly mistaking the remarks for some kind of joke which, although she hadn't quite understood she seemed more than willing to engage if only for the sake of her favourite, "How so?"

"Delphine belongs here in Virginia City, with her friends," Adam asserted calmly, easing gently towards the pinnacle of his case, "She belongs with her husband."

Despite the stark composure of his sentence, Adam knew it carried a weight that went beyond mere opinion sharing. It wasn't designed to be controversial, only truthful, reflecting what he knew to be right. He wasn't aiming to hurt Delphine's sisters nor guilt them into any action with which they did not agree, but neither did it seem fair to let them act in accordance with their grief without considering what might be best for everyone. His hope was to appeal to their greater rationale, although, as the mood-barometer swung noticeably from frosty to polar that hope began to dwindle.

"Her _husband_?!" retorted Lilliana sharply, with more of the contempt she had been reserving for him all afternoon but for the first time giving Adam an insight into it's reasoning; in the obvious absence of Ross she was instead venting her fury and her bitter sorrow upon the nearest person to him she could find, a living representative of sorts, which just so happened to be him. She blamed him, she blamed both of them, Ross and Adam, and as she continued she was careful to prove it, tone suddenly taking on a fierce sort of flippancy, "Tell me, _Mr._ Cartwright," she asked in his direction, the stress upon his title clearly imparting the fact that she found him unworthy of it, "Would that be the same husband who murdered her when she sat defenceless? The same husband who – 'beat' her to death?" she demanded, stumbling slightly over the last words before regaining her harshness, "Is that who she deserves to be buried alongside? A murderer? A coward? A _snake_?!"

The rest of the table had long since fallen silent, no one daring to speak and the correct words proving hard to come by. Sitting side-by-side, heads pinging back and forth between the fractious debate, Little Joe and Hoss chanced a worried look across the tablecloth, each finding their own reflection mirrored in the face of the other. They backed Adam all the way, of course they did, but at the same time the plight of the two women opposite could do little else but induce sympathy, thereby tearing their emotions between conviction and compassion.

"Mrs. Barber," Adam replied quickly, his tone suddenly taking on a dangerous edge as he began to struggle with his own feelings on the matter, "This wasn't Ross' fault. He was sick – you have to see that,"

Lilliana's gaze darkened at once, clearly, she didn't.

"_See_?" she mimicked disdainfully, "My sister is dead, I _see _that, my brother-in-law too, and I shall tell you something else – considering you seem to claim such righteous indignation over us all – as the man who fired the fatal shot, you are no better than he was!"

It was a damning slur, outrageous and unfair, and as it echoed around the table everybody bristled instinctively.

"Now wait a minute – ," Ben began curtly, caught between deference and defensiveness but being waved off by Adam, whose anger had seemingly melted away,

"It's all right Pa."

"Lili – ," Juliette put in quietly in the pause, clearly upset for a multitude of reasons but trying to keep it in check, "A-Adam _was_ shot first,"

"It was self-defence," Little Joe finished hotly, "Ross would have killed him."

The chorus of dissent slowed Lilliana Barber only briefly,

"Be that as it may, the facts still stand. To which I will add another," she was staring solidly at Adam now, the sentiments clearly for him alone, "I may not have been able to protect my sister in life, but I _will_ do my best for her now – and that means refusing to have her buried beside a monster."

"To satisfy whose ends? Your own?" Adam fired back, not quite done yet, "If you punish Ross like this, you'll be denying them both the only thing they ever wanted; to be together,"

"I'm sorry Mr. Cartwright," Lilliana offered coldly, the sentiments going widely unfelt, "But my sister deserves better than that man – she always did, and if you had any sense in you at all you would have seen it years ago. Plan your funeral if you have to, but rest assured neither we, nor our sister will be there to see it. As far as I am concerned Ross Marquette is already buried."

Dinner had been aborted altogether soon after.

Hop Sing had not been pleased.

….

12 – .

The moment when evening eased gently into night was Adam's favourite point of the day. Here the air was calm and at it's coolest before becoming cold, and the pinks and oranges of the sunset were giving way to progressively darkening hues of inky blue and pale grey. It was still light enough to pick out details, but at the same time dark enough to cover over the landscape's rougher edges and, as people concerned themselves with finishing suppers, putting children to bed and debating whether it was cold enough to stoke up a fire or not, the outside stilled and sighed around them. Animals were starting to move from their daytime places of slumber, and everywhere nature was waking to reclaim its own until the dawn.

Sitting out in front of the house, Adam let the transition wash around him, his eyes gradually adjusting to the failing light but finding themselves harder and harder pressed to find the detail as his view retreated inwards, as if frightened by the approaching shadows. Somewhere out in the trees the first owl of the night hooted its lonely call and something scampered along the side of the barn and away into the scrub. It felt strange to be surrounded by so much activity – the thought that mere inches away from him animals, insects and birds were going about their lives, completely unconcerned and unawares of the tension and conflict in his own. He was but a speck of the universe's consciousness, so was Ross, and so were Delphine and her sisters. Life went on.

"Adam?"

He'd known it was only a matter of time before someone joined him – the upshot and drawback of having such a close and protective family unit – and he'd known because he would have done the same thing had something similar happened to Hoss, Joe or even his father to bring on deep melancholia. Cartwright's didn't grieve, wallow or generally do much else alone, and the timely appearance of both his brothers come out into the darkening night after him proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Dropping themselves with matching sighs onto chairs and porch steps respectively, Hoss and Joe each took a moment to settle back, sharing a surreptitious glance that by anyone other than their elder brother would have gone unnoticed. He could almost hear them thinking,

'_Say something…'_

'_Why don't you say it little brother?'_

It was another couple of seconds before spoken word finally made an appearance, Hoss clearing his throat mildly beforehand,

"Y'all right Adam?"

It was a question he was getting very good at answering, although the tightness and close self-evaluation that came with hearing it was starting to wear off.

"I'm all right Hoss," he responded before sighing and leaning back against the chair, "Although dinner could have gone better, huh?"

Little Joe shrugged roguishly,

"It could have been worse,"

Adam frowned, a crooked smile tugging at his lips,

"How?"

"Mrs. Barber could have thrown her plate at you," Joe responded as casually as if they'd been discussing the weather before grinning widely, "You could have thrown yours at her."

As dark humour lit up Adam's eyes he snapped his fingers lightly, pointing at his youngest brother as if hit by a sudden brainwave,

"Hey, now there's a thought."

Throughout the exchange Hoss kept quiet, his silence and downcast face signalling his unease – although whether at the circumstances or their making light of it the other two couldn't tell.

"Are _you _all right?" Adam asked him in the pause, somewhat sardonically.

Clearly struggling with the answer, Hoss briefly turned a worried face upwards, contemplating putting words to his feelings and then deciding against it and simply shrugging.

"I don't know Adam," he offered eventually, and just as his brothers were beginning to give up hope, "I just, don't like seeing them two gals so upset is all – it ain't right and proper,"

"You think I was wrong?"

"Well, no – not _wrong_ as such," Hoss responded awkwardly, visibly squirming, "Just – ,"

"Not as gentle as I could have been," the older finished for him, having been of much the same opinion himself. He hadn't handled the conversation as well as he could have done; something he'd like to have put down to grief but couldn't be sure wasn't partly motivated by his personal dislike for Lilliana Barber. Was he really capable of being that cruel? Little Joe certainly didn't seem to think so,

"Now hold on Hoss," he interjected quickly, seemingly affronted on his older brother's behalf, "Mrs. Barber doesn't need any defending – you heard what she said to Adam!"

"Yes," the bigger man admitted reluctantly, "An' I don't agree with that neither, but Adam, them two just found out their sister was murdered by her own husband. They 's upset is all,"

"I know _that _Hoss," Adam fired back hotly, "But you're missing the point. Lilliana and Juliette want to take Dell back to St. Louis. Do _you_ think that's what she'd have wanted?"

More awkward squirming,

"Well…no – but, well, I just wish there was another way that's all. One that doesn't get everybody so riled up at each other,"

"So do I," replied Adam, the temper having dropped off as quickly as it had stoked up. After all, Hoss had a long-standing history of empathy, and it seemed only right that it be stirred by the recently bereaved. Anything else would have been out of character.

"You think you can convince them to bury Delphine here?" Joe asked quietly in the following silence, glancing over at his eldest brother and watching the doubt register across his face,

"I shouldn't think so," Adam replied calmly enough despite the sentiments, "I've not convinced anyone to bury Ross here yet."

"You will," the youngest asserted, drawing first a look of surprise and then a snort of weary amusement,

"I can try."

"Well here you all are!" came a new voice suddenly across the darkness, making each man start, unaware they were being observed. Ben was striding towards them from the door, hands on his hips as he came to a standstill beside them, "I wondered where everyone had gone,"

Adam looked over at him, smiling flatly,

"Just taking in the night air Pa,"

"After tonight's events I don't blame you."

"You don't have to. Hoss already blames him," chipped in Little Joe with a glare at his elder brother, still obviously harbouring some anger on Adam's behalf.

"Now hold on Little Joe!" Hoss began quickly, not getting any further before Ben waded into the debate, frowning,

"Hold on both of you!" he hissed, trying to keep his voice down in case their guests heard, "What is going on here? What do you mean Hoss blames Adam?"

"It's nothing Pa," Adam interrupted smoothly, his tone so offhand that everybody stopped arguing to look at him, "Hoss just thinks I was a little short this evening and I agree with him,"

"You were only doing what you thought was right Adam," Little Joe put-in firmly as if it summed up the whole situation. Adam nodded,

"I know."

"We _all _know," Ben asserted, stepping in to ensure an end to the debate. They had enough trouble as it was without family arguments thrown into the mix, "Now, come on all of you. We're all tired and emotional, I think it's best we just went to bed."

"Yeah."

"Sure thing Pa,"

A chorus of nods met the assessment, everybody about ready to put the day to rest in the hopes that the next would be better. One figure however didn't move, drawing a concerned frown from his father right on cue.

"Adam? You coming?"

"Not yet Pa, I think I'll stay out here a while longer."

Ben paused, caught between how relaxed his son looked and how tired, knowing at the same time that ordering him to bed would with be met with resistance, as well it should have been, Adam was a grown man after all, even if he would always be in a sense, Ben's child.

"All right son," the elder conceded eventually before smiling softly, "But not too long, huh?"

Adam smiled but said nothing – knowing it wasn't exactly what his father wanted to hear but not able to do any better. He had too much to think about.

He wasn't sure how much longer he sat out there, maybe ten minutes maybe fifty, all sense of time just washing over him as he let his mind drift, the experience as cathartic as it was chaotic. He'd spent a lot of time since the shooting trying to remember Ross as he had been, only to find that he had so many memories that they were almost impossible to separate from one another, becoming a big blend of looks, moments and snapshots turning end upon end before his eyes. He could remember strange moments, insignificant things; the way Ross walked, the way he greeted people, a second of his laughter as he told a joke, inconsequential things but suddenly so, so important. Compared to these little snippets of remembrance, longer memories seemed irrelevant, the essence of the man more comforting than any one moment he could pick out from their long friendship.

It was the same for Delphine too, her smile, the way she used to fuss around Ross like he was a newborn baby; pouring his tea, fetching his coat out after him if she thought the wind too chill for a shirt alone, the way she could often be found with patches of paint daubed onto her clothes, or inadvertently wiped across her forehead such was her creative intensity.

He missed them. He missed everything about them, and even though they'd seen each other only sporadically over the past six months – the last few days aside – the knowledge that they'd _been_ there, just a few miles away had always been enough. Now they weren't, nor would they ever be again. No one was there anymore.

"Adam?"

As his name floated tentatively across the breeze – colder now that the night had moved in completely – Adam started, blinking rapidly through eyes that had been beginning to water. Juliette was standing before him hesitantly; her own eyes reddened, a laced handkerchief playing nervously through her fingers,

"Juliette."

"May I join you?" she asked tentatively, watching as he rose on instinct and offered out the chair he had been using just moments before,

"Please,"

She took it graciously, watching him slide into one opposite, both of them falling into a hopeless yet somewhat comfortable silence.

"I couldn't sleep," she explained softly, smiling a little as if the idea were a silly one, "To be honest, I didn't really try. I – I didn't like the thought of what I might see if I closed my eyes."

Adam blinked, the sentence catching him in both surprise and sympathy. He'd felt that feeling before.

"Juliette," he began in the following silence, taking a deep breath to steady his resolve, "About my actions earlier, the way I spoke to your sister, I want to – ,"

"Don't apologise Adam," she interrupted calmly, reaching over to pat him on the hand, letting her fingers linger just a second longer than she'd intended, "I know Lilliana doesn't appear to be a very sympathetic sort of person, and in many ways I suppose she's not, but she did a lot for us, Delphine and I when we were younger. She helped to raise us and I think she feels that…what's happened is her fault. She never wanted Delphine to come out here, and she always thought she could do better than Ross – ," on saying the name Juliette faltered slightly, as if having uttered something impure and Adam felt himself tense on instinct. If she noticed it however, Juliette didn't let on, instead gathering herself on forcing on through it, as if challenging her own reaction, "But Delphine was so happy out here. She had to let her go."

Adam listened silently, feeling himself grow something akin to empathy for the elder sister. After all, what Juliette had described almost perfectly summed up his own relationship with his younger brothers. He couldn't begin to think how he'd react if he lost one of them, especially in such complicated circumstances. However it wasn't one of his brothers, and while his beliefs on the issue had softened, they hadn't changed.

"You know…" Juliette continued quietly, almost thoughtfully, "I always envied Delphine and Ross, what they found with each other," sensing Adam's quizzical look she smiled shyly, hurrying to clarify her point, "I mean, I like being married, I find it suits me very well and I am fond of my husband as is he of me, but I'm not sure it's love, not like Delphine had with Ross…" she paused slightly, looking to Adam almost as if for reassurance, "They did love each other didn't they?"

Adam nodded, not even needing to think about the answer,

"Very much."

In the short silence that followed, Juliette took a deep breath and turned towards him, eyes finding out his and holding them in a steady, questioning gaze.

"How did it happen Adam?"

He didn't need to ask what she meant. She wanted to know, she wanted to know all of it.

"I'm not sure," he replied, struggling with the answer, not sure how to put it into words or even if he knew the answer himself, much less wanted to discuss it. But Juliette was staring at him, pleading for some insight into the brutal death of a much loved sister, and as much as he wanted to, Adam couldn't deny her that, "I don't think anyone is. What makes a man's heart so black? Drives him to do such terrible things?"

"He was sick?" she asked, watching as Adam nodded looking anywhere but at her face, not sure he could bear the judgement he might find there. Instead Juliette simply blinked, trying to make sense of things as best she could, "Is that why you said it wasn't his fault?"

He nodded again,

"Ross couldn't help himself. I don't think he was even there," pausing to regard his injured arm he amended the statement firmly, "I _know_ he wasn't."

"When did it start?"

"Several months ago, when he lost his herd to the blackleg, as far as I can work out,"

Juliette frowned,

"Blackleg?"

"It's a cattle disease, hit these parts pretty hard late last year. Everybody lost stock, we lost some ourselves but Ross…Ross lost everything."

"They never let on,"

"I'm not sure even Dell knew how bad it was," Adam offered, smiling slightly, "Ross didn't want her to worry."

Juliette smiled back, the expression small if not seemingly genuine. It faded again quickly,

"Was it very bad?"

Adam nodded,

"I offered to help, but Ross was too proud, too stubborn," he smiled again, the description critical yet fond, "In the end all I could do was pay off the worst of the creditors and hope he never found out,"

"You were a good friend Adam."

He blinked. Was he? Wouldn't a good friend have seen the danger sooner? Have noticed what was happening to Ross before it had fallen down around his ears? He didn't feel like a good friend.

"So was he."

As another silence rose between them, Juliette shifted closer in her chair, her voice more even sounding as she continued, as if talking about it was helping her composure, which seemed a little backwards.

"Do you think that was what caused the illness? Losing his stock?"

"I think that was the start of it. That and the fear that he might lose Dell,"

"Lose her?"

"If he couldn't keep her in the same circumstances, if their situation changed," sensing Juliette's renewed distress Adam quickly clarified his point, "Not that she ever would have, but Ross had lost everything, all he had was Delphine and the fear of losing her too must have seemed as real as anything else. He loved her too much to disappoint her."

"Then if he loved her so much," asked Juliette, taking a deep, steadying breath, "Why did he – why did he kill her?"

It was a good question, and one Adam had been asking himself over the days. It was illogical. Or was it?

"The deeper he got – the sicker he became – the more he blamed her. He did it all for her, and because he couldn't tell her he never received the gratitude he felt he was owed. From there it was easy enough to convince himself that she no longer loved him, that she and I were in love. He convinced himself he was losing her and chose to make her pay for it."

It was still blunt, despite being as gentle as he felt he could make it. Juliette however still seemed upset, taking in a long, shuddering breath and raising her handkerchief to dab at her eyes,

"Adam?" she asked after a moment, face as serious as he'd seen it since she'd arrived despite all the various traumas the day had thrown at her, "I want to ask you something, and I want you to be honest, no bias, no personal feelings, just the truth. Can you do that?"

Adam blinked,

"I can try."

Juliette nodded, the answer seemingly good enough for her.

"You were their best friend in the whole world. Myself and Lilliana like to think we know Delphine well, but the truth is she was always different from us, freer, happier, more accepting. These last few years we barely knew her at all – but you did, and so I want to ask you, plainly. Do you think Delphine would want to be buried here? Do you think she'd wanted to be buried here with Ross?"

It was as much of a chance to make his case as Adam was going to get, and as fair a hearing, but for once it didn't need the argument that came with it, the validation of his belief, the struggle. All it needed was three simple words.

"Yes, I do."

Juliette nodded, mustering a wavy smile and patting him again on the hand before turning it into a squeeze of solidarity.

"Thank you," she whispered, before rising and heading into the house.

Adam stayed sitting behind her, letting his head buzz with confusion. It had been as truthful about the whole situation as he had been yet, and explaining it had been nothing short of exhausting. At the same time though he felt that the conversation had been strangely final, that for all it's positive noises he had lost his last chance to bury Dell in Virginia City. Juliette may have been swayed but Lilliana still held the power, and she was not backing down – particularly not after their exchange at dinner. He'd done all he could do, and he'd still lost. The only thing left was to fight for Ross, to lay him to rest and allow him to be at peace. That he could do.

That he was going to do.

….

13 – .

The next morning Adam rode Sport into town early.

It was the first time he'd ventured into Virginia City since the trouble with Littlewood, and, despite having lived their for the greater part of his life, and despite knowing every inch of the place like the back of his hand, he couldn't shake the feeling that it somehow felt different – like some sort of gloss had come off. He knew that many of the inhabitants of Virginia City were disappointed with him for continuing his crusade to see Ross buried decently, but the truth was he was disappointed in _them_, his neighbours, friends and associates almost all of whom Adam had credited with better morals than they seemed to possess.

It was as disheartening as it was frustrating.

The earliness of his visit however ensured that the only people up and about were those preparing for the day ahead, opening shops, laying out produce, bustling to wherever they needed to go and consequently paying very little attention to those around them. The Littlewoods of the town were, mercifully, still drinking off heavy night's drinking and as a result Adam found his welcome perhaps a little more formal but generally no more or less cordial than usual. Whatever people's personal thoughts, the Cartwright's were good enough patrons and friends to ensure civility.

By the time he'd finished his business the sun was starting to arc up towards the highest point in the hazy blue sky, the cool breeze dropping to a whisper as the warmest part of the day crept inwards. It was still cool enough to work by, but, as it had been doing daily, seemed to throw out hints about the approaching summer – none of them good. Given the building temperatures Adam wouldn't have been surprised if a drought wasn't on the way, which would mean additional upheaval for them all alongside the usual arguments and disputes engendered by such natural scarcity, be it land, sun or water.

Tracking the well-worn route back towards the Ponderosa Adam briefly became aware of movement on the horizon, and, pausing to push back the brim of his hat and regard the activity, realized with a jolt of alarm that it was the buggy, which meant one thing, or rather two; Juliette and Lilliana. Turning Sport – and with considerable rumination on the various meanings of the phrase 'the coward's way out' – Adam promptly set off across the scrub, cutting down behind the tall barricade of rocks that flanked and concealed the road, immensely preferring the rough and uneven ground to the unparalleled discomfort that would have come with pretending to make pleasantries with Mrs. Barber, who probably never wanted to see, much less converse with him ever again.

When he arrived home – with a good half-hour extra tacked onto his journey – Ben was all ready standing at the door waiting to meet him and with an expression not too distant from relief stamped across his features,

"Adam," he greeted warmly, "There you are,"

Or otherwise: _Why didn't you tell me that you were going? Or where you were going? _Evidently, Ben wasn't quite done cosseting yet.

"Sorry Pa," Adam responded calmly, taking off his hat and dropping it onto its usual spot on the dresser as he let himself in past his father, "I wanted to leave for town early this morning – make arrangements."

Ben frowned, his relief checked for a moment,

"Arrangements?"

"Yes," replied Adam, pouring himself a coffee from the breakfast remnants on the table before taking a seat and spearing a pancake, "For Ross' funeral,"

The combination of his appetite, mixed with the casual sentiments of the statement made Ben pause for a second, caught between his surprise on both accounts,

"The funeral?" he repeated almost blankly before appearing to wake up, "You mean there's going to be one?"

Chewing his way around a mouthful of breakfast, Adam nodded,

"At the cemetery, tomorrow morning – after the stage has left for St. Louis."

There was a vague hint of amusement as he said the last part and Ben smiled at it, all the while trying to straighten out the facts in his own head,

"The cemetery? How did you get the Reverend to agree to that?"

"I promised the gravediggers double, and I assured the reverend that I would personally handle any trouble."

At the mention of trouble Ben's expression clouded over, even the thought of his eldest son putting himself in harm's way – particularly with only one working arm – not proving a particularly comforting notion.

"Are you sure that's wise?"

Adam shrugged, seemingly unconcerned,

"I had to do it Pa, it was the only way he'd agree."

"Well, I suppose," the elder conceded reluctantly, "Did you let Roy Coffee know?"

Adam smiled,

"Who do you think helped me convince Reverend Thomas in the first place?"

Shaking his head, Ben chuckled fondly.

"He's a good man."

Adam didn't disagree and in the comfortable silence that followed, Ben took a seat opposite his son and poured himself a coffee of his own,

"I sent Little Joe up to check on the West fences…" he offered after a pause, as if explaining the peace and quiet, "…and Hoss has gone into town with Mrs. Barber and Juliette,"

"I know, I saw them coming when I was riding back," he smiled ruefully, "I took the long-way round."

Ben sighed, his brow quirking in weary amusement before shaking his head and sitting back,

"That was probably for the best."

"I take it Mrs. Barber's opinions of me are not any fonder for a good night's sleep?"

"I doubt she had a good night's sleep," Ben responded, before taking in his eldest son with a gentle smile, "But no."

"I guess I dropped the ball with that one, huh?" Adam asked, his tone as self-reflective as it was resigned.

"You spoke from the heart," Ben amended supportively, "No one can blame you for that."

Adam smiled, appreciating his father's help but not believing it for a second.

"Can't they?"

There wasn't a lot else to say to that.

Late breakfast over, Adam stood from the table with a sigh, stretching a little before turning to look at his father, who seemed as surprised by the sudden movement as he had been by the sudden arrival,

"If you don't need me today Pa there's something I've been meaning to do,"

Ben blinked, not sure what Adam was intending but not about to deny it him either,

"No. Go ahead," sitting back he watched his eldest move across the room, reclaiming his jacket, a hint of curiosity nagging at him, "Want any company?"

Dropping his hat back onto his head and casually bending down the brim with his thumb, Adam turned back towards his father with a smile,

"No thanks Pa. Besides…" he added, throwing out a carefree wink, "…someone's got to be here to welcome our guests home."

The semi-serious glare Ben responded with was almost worth the tease alone.

"I'll be back in time for dinner."

And just like that Adam was gone again.

….

14 – .

The Silver Dollar Ranch was a place so familiar to Adam as to be a home from home. There wasn't a nook or cranny of the place that at some time or other he hadn't helped build, paint or shore up; not a seat in the house he couldn't remember sitting back on; not an inch he didn't feel he knew almost as intimately as the Ponderosa.

Every square foot contained memories, hundreds of them, all jostling for prominence and so vivid that on stepping inside Adam felt as thought he were walking with the ghosts of Ross and Delphine themselves, talking the same things they'd talked a million times or more; politics, religion, ethics. The place was crackling with the residual energy of life but at the same time was utterly devoid of it; lifeless.

Adam moved through it in a dream, carrying an almost reverential fear of touching or disturbing anything lest it in some way be impossible to put back. It was like walking through a mausoleum and yet at the same time it was the only place where Ross and Delphine felt real, where there seemed to be any hard proof that they'd existed at all.

But it was different. It was very different as the bullet holes dotted around the front gave testament to, as the splintered and fragmented shards of wood around the door made evident. Adam had known his father and brothers had been involved in a shoot-out here, and he'd been glad he wasn't part of it, not sure how he'd have felt on seeing the place so assailed given the circumstances. That however had been a necessity, and it didn't bother Adam half so much as the anomalies he found inside; the shattered lamp still lying in ugly jagged pieces around the floor from where Ross had shot a warning at him for the first time; the table still upended; a painting of Dell's lying tattered and defaced on the floor in a seeming act of random violence. It was like someone else had come ahead of him and started to trash the place, then scarpered as he'd arrived. It was almost easier to think of it like that. Only he knew that wasn't the truth.

He'd come over with the intention of trying to gather together Ross' things. He had no doubts Juliette and Lilliana would see to Delphine's belongings, which was almost a relief, but no one would want to see to Ross', and, as the ranch was invariably turned into new hands, his best friend's most treasured possessions would become little more than fodder for the spend-thrifts and vultures. He couldn't allow that to happen anymore than he could allow Ross to rot in some unmarked grave atop a nameless hill, forgotten by the world. This, like so many other things, now became his responsibility.

Ross, much like himself, had been a well-educated man, revelling as much in outdoor, work-a-day ranch life as in the cultured world of art, literature and history. He had little in the way of family heirlooms, his father having spent the vast bulk of their money on both his son's schooling and their trip out West, but as Ross' own profits had flourished he'd spent the excess on creating a neat, ordered and well-stocked house, priding himself on artwork, antiques and, most importantly, books. Ross had hundreds of books, or 'space wasters' as Mrs. Marquette senior had preferred to call them, her aversion to collecting a home library just another wedge that had driven her further from Delphine. Over the years Adam had lost count of the amount of time he and Ross had spent closeted away before the shelves, usually when they'd supposed to be doing something else and a new purchase had just had to be viewed and discussed and then discussed some more over something to drink and one of Delphine's cakes. More than once Ben had ridden up in exasperation because the ten-minute errand on which he'd dispatched his son had turned into a three-hour sojourn in his absence, with seemingly little emphasis on business.

It was before the books that Adam found himself now, standing underneath the ranging shelves before which he'd always felt so content and instead feeling his emotions round on him. He felt like a stranger, worse than that, he felt like an intruder, letting himself into the inner sanctum of the house of a man he didn't know, although it was a comparison he fought against fiercely.

Casting around the enormity of the task suddenly began to weigh on him. Where did he begin to determine what of Ross' was to be kept? _How_ did he begin? What was he going to do with the things he thought worth saving?

Letting the debate swirl inside his head, Adam reached and pulled a thick volume from one of the shelves, starting up with the books beside the desk – Ross' favourites, always only a hand's-reach away. It was a collection of poems, one page clearly book marked and well-thumbed over the course of many a re-reading. Robert Burns; Adam knew it well, Ross had recited it at his wedding, and practised for a month straight beforehand, roping in his best friend for long afternoons spent committing the text to memory until they'd both known it so well that they could have performed it as a duet.

_O my Luve's like a red, red rose  
That's newly sprung in June;  
O my Luve's like the melodie  
That's sweetly play'd in tune._

_As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,_  
_So deep in luve am I:_  
_And I will luve thee still, my dear,_  
_Till a' the seas gang dry:_

_Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,_  
_And the rocks melt wi' the sun:_  
_I will luve thee still, my dear,_  
_While the sands o' life shall run._

_And fare thee well, my only Luve_  
_And fare thee well, a while!_  
_And I will come again, my Luve,_  
_Tho' it were ten thousand mile._

He read the words as carefully as if he'd been reading them for the first time, even though his memory skipped away ahead of him, always a line in front and waiting for his eyes to catch up.

He could remember Ross speaking them as they had sat out on the porch one lazy summer afternoon just days before the wedding, he could remember him saying them to Delphine, could remember the look in her eyes as he'd spoken the words and the look in her eyes whenever she'd looked at him thereafter.

His own eyes started to sting in response, a gasp so sharp it seemed almost painful rising in his throat as he gave in for the first time since Ross had taken his last breath, and allowed the tears to fall from his covered eyes. He fought hard against the need even as it held him, battling the tears back, pushing down the hitching in his throat. It was not the way he did things, nor had ever done things and leaning wearily against the desk letting the hot tears trickle down his cheeks didn't fix, solve or speed any of the things that needed doing. He had to stop.

"I'm sorry Ross," he whispered eventually, wiping away the tears with the back of his hand and shaking his head, not knowing what he was apologising for but knowing that he wanted to, "I'm sorry."

It was as he lifted his head from his hand that he became aware of someone standing in front of him for the first time. A woman, thin and petite, silhouetted by the light in the doorway and for a second making his heart lurch in fear and confusion. Seeing herself spotted however, the figure moved further into the room, and Adam blinked, fighting down his emotions. It wasn't Delphine, nor could it have been – it was Lilliana Barber.

"Forgive the intrusion," she began, cold but curious, "I didn't know you were here."

"Why would you have?" Adam responded, clearing his throat until he sounded more like himself. Lilliana ignored him, instead turning to pace around the room, taking in her surroundings as if evaluating them.

"He kept a lot of books."

Adam blinked, supposing the conversation to be something akin to small talk, if Mrs. Barber even made small talk that was.

"He had a great love literature," he replied simply, not sure what she wanted or expected to hear.

"Seems rather a waste of space don't you think?" she asked leadingly. Adam kept quiet, having learnt his lesson from the night before and aware that she was testing him on much the same thing. Ironically she probably would have got on well with Mrs. Marquette Senior, "You were very fond of Ross I presume?" she asked suddenly, chit-chat abandoned,

"I was," Adam answered evenly, "As I like to think he was of me."

"Before he shot you?"

Again Adam stayed quiet.

"I didn't know my sister's husband very well Mr. Cartwright," she continued, as though neither the slight nor the ensuing silence had occurred, her eyes taking in everything around the room with the exception of him, "I didn't know anything of his history, his manners, his ambitions. Now I don't suppose I ever shall."

Adam took his chance,

"Ross was a good man. The best friend I've ever had. He helped anybody who asked for it, but more often than not you didn't need to ask at all. He loved this city, he loved this ranch…and he loved your sister."

The answer was met with another snort, but for once it sounded weary rather than scathing.

"Can you condone his actions?"

"No," did she honestly think he could? "But nor can I condemn them."

Surprised, she turned to look at him, intrigued rather than judgemental which seemed like a victory in itself,

"Why not?"

"Because _this_ is the Ross I knew," he asserted, sweeping his hands around the room to indicate the order, "This is who Ross was. What happened to him – his sickness – was as cruel to him as to anyone else. It robbed him of his nature, his kindness. Why do you think your sister stayed with him for so long?" Lilliana quirked her head at him, almost as if she'd never thought considered it, "Because she knew he was _ill_, not bad or evil or anything else people might have thought of him in the past few days. _I_ was the one that made her leave, she would have waited for him, she would have waited for him to come back to her."

"Do you think he would have?" Lilliana asked quietly, clearly debating the answer herself.

"No," he admitted, to himself as much as anyone, "I think by the time anyone knew what was happening Ross was already gone."

"Is that why you were apologising?" she pressed, catching him off-guard. It felt strange to think that his most vulnerable of moments had been witnessed by so mild and fractious and acquaintance, and that, if she so chose, she could have freely hung it over his head.

"Yes."

She nodded in return, almost as if satisfied by the answer, although whatever hers would have been was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Hoss.

"Adam?!" he breathed, clearly surprised and horrified all at once, particularly on seeing the haunted look on his older brother's face, and taking in the staid reserve of Mrs. Barber. He could only guess at what had happened.

"Excuse me," she chirped coolly in the ensuing pause, not giving any reasoning but drifting briskly from the room. Hoss waited until she was out of sight before moving inwards and catching his older gently brother by the arm, evidently concerned,

"Adam, are you all right?" that question again, but this time without the need for a reply, "I saw your horse out front. If I'd have known you were coming this way then I'd never have brought them two out here as well – but they were so set on seeing the place an' I just couldn't disappoint them an' – "

"Hoss," Adam interrupted calmly, "It's all right."

His brother paused, either unsure of the sentiments or else unwilling to believe them,

"She didn't upset you none?"

Adam smiled,

"No, she didn't."

"You sure?"

"Hoss."

That seemed to convince him and, content that his older brother was not mortally wounded by some vicious verbal attack, he instead let his gaze carry around the room, smiling absently,

"I reckon I'd forgotten just how many books Ross used to have," _used to have_. The turn of phrase struck Adam at once, although Hoss hadn't seemed to notice, "Know which ones you're keeping?"

Adam sighed, the question drawing him back to the task at hand,

"No," he offered simply before turning to regard his brother with a crooked smile, "Want to help me decide?"

Hoss paused,

"Aw, I ain't much good at knowing one book from another Adam. I'd be as likely to keep them all as not."

Adam's gaze didn't falter, suddenly appreciating the solidarity that came from having one of his family nearby.

"All the same, I could use a hand."

_Stay._

It was an important request. All week they had been waiting for Adam to ask them for help, and bit by bit, he was starting to. Now that he was opening up, nobody was going to deny him, least of all Hoss.

"Well sure brother," he replied with a smile, slapping him hard on the back, "I reckon I'd be happy to."

Adam smiled back.

Suddenly the room didn't feel quite so empty.

….

15 – .

The morning began overcast, almost as if catching a hint of the prevailing mood and darkening the skies to match. Spots of rain had threatened sporadically, dropping down to disturb the dry ground and sit in tiny glistening specks on horse saddles and hat brims, although thankfully that was it all it did, the darker clouds passing on overhead with the occasional ominous rumble.

It was a small group that stood in the cemetery, hats in hand, eyes downcast; two diggers in the background, shovels slung across their shoulders, the Reverend Thomas in full regalia, Sheriff Roy Coffee, Ben, Hoss and finally Adam stood at the head of the grave, casting down into the hole and trying to make sense of his emotions as they waited for the final member of their meagre party.

Now that his quest was complete, the fierce passion which had burnt inside of Adam was starting to ebb away, replacing it like for like with increasing levels of exhaustion and just plain sorrow. The funeral had been the zenith of his ambitions, yet now that it was here, it was the finality of the situation that was proving the hardest storm to weather. Once this was over; Ross was gone for good. Only in memory would he have any place left.

At the sound of horses everybody else turned their heads, finding out Little Joe as drew up in the buggy, jumped down to join them and removing his hat in silence,

"Did you see them off all right?" Ben asked him quietly as he came a standstill alongside them, not needing to ask to whom his father was referring.

"Almost Pa. The stage was late, I had to leave them in town to make it back here in time."

Ben grunted, the noise both affirmative and endorsement. They broke off into silence as the Reverend Thomas looked towards Adam hopefully,

"Are we expecting anyone else?"

Glancing up and taking in the supportive features of his family without seemingly seeing them, Adam shook his head mildly,

"I shouldn't think so."

Clearing his throat somewhat awkwardly, the Reverend Thomas nodded, smoothing out a page in the book before him and suddenly looking a little guilty. Adam watched him for a second before looking away. As good a man as he was, the Reverend had been given his chance to make his peace with Ross; he'd turned up and allowed the burial, but it was the very minimum he could have done. If he was struggling with his decision now then it was neither Adam's fault nor his concern. Each man made his own judgement.

"Very well."

Adam barely heard the words of the service, not paying attention as instead his mind turned back towards his memories. Strangely, since he'd woken that morning the most vivid had suddenly become the later ones, each as painful as the last and jostling away all the years of worth of accumulated good-times with such propensity as to render him impossible of seeing anything else. He saw Ross' face the day he'd turned up at the Silver Dollar Ranch only to find himself accused of adultery, he saw Ross push Delphine to the ground; saw the bruises dotting her face. He could see Ross standing before him, a stranger, the look in his eyes so utterly alien, so unseeing. He felt the bullet tear his arm – a real and involuntary pang passing through it in response – felt himself hit the ground, twist and fire, listening to the sound cracking around the rocks and knowing that he'd hit his target. Was that how he was going to remember Ross from that moment on – without anything good to link to him?

It was a while before Adam became aware of the pause. Somewhere, as he'd been silently torturing himself Reverend Thomas had stopped speaking, his eyes leaving the book and instead looking upwards, out across the greenery. Adam blinked, wondering whether or not he'd missed his cue for something, wondering if they weren't all waiting for him to speak, or to play some hitherto unknown role in the ceremony.

"Adam,"

Glancing up at the sound of Hoss' gentle tones Adam found that, rather than looking at him, his younger brother – both of them in fact – was looking out away from the grave, to a point beyond the ranging tombstones and away from the ceremony altogether, copied by his father and Roy alike. Curiously, Adam followed their combined gazes.

Heading across the grass towards them was a mass of people, twenty, maybe thirty strong, all dressed in their best black clothes, hats removed and walking in silence. Two figures out of all of them however caught Adam's eye; Lilliana and Juliette, at the head of the column, heads raised, looks purposeful. Behind them, several men carried another coffin on their shoulders, bringing it in closer and closer across the half-damp ground.

For a moment, Adam couldn't quite understand what they were doing, or adequately process their presence, simply watching with uncharacteristic bewilderment as the group approached and then swallowed up the surroundings, spreading out to swarm around the grave in silent reverence, waiting for the recitation to begin once again as the men with the coffin came to a standstill around the hole and began to busy themselves with the task of lowering their precious burden down onto the casket all ready in place below it.

Catching his father's eye with a look of total mystification, Adam watched as Ben smiled at him before gently turning towards the two women who stopped beside him, his face gratification personified,

"You're very welcome, both," he greeted warmly, watching as Lilliana looked up, bestowing a thin but genuine smile upon him,

"Thank you. I'm glad we weren't too late."

Turning, she addressed the last of the statement towards Adam, and for a moment the other was all each of them could see. Finally understanding the sacrifice and the enormity of what was happening, Adam mustered a smile of his own, brave rather than wide.

"You're just in time," he offered softly, and then pausing to take a deep breath, he turned back to the man standing in shocked silence beside him, "Reverend."

As the sombre tones of the clergyman took up again, Adam allowed himself to watch the coffin being lowered in; Ross and Delphine, together forever as it always should have been. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and abruptly all the best memories he possessed rushed back in to replace the bad.

The people of Virginia City had not let him down – late though they had been – and nor had Delphine's sisters – who, as Hoss had earlier hoped and, it had to be said against all odds – had both of them turned out to be every bit as good and kind as their sister before them. But all of that paled into insignificance beside what was really happening; Ross and Delphine were finally at peace.

He didn't need to apologise to either of them anymore.

….

16 – .

Juliette and Lilliana had left for St. Louis earlier that morning, a full two days after their originally intended departure date and in considerably better spirits than they'd arrived. For Lilliana in particular, the truce called for the funeral seemed to have lifted a weight from her shoulders, and, while never exactly proving easy-going, she could toward the end of their stay tentatively have been labelled genial. Her demeanour towards Adam changed dramatically too, as if she suddenly saw the intensity of their separate losses as a reason for intimacy rather than icy distance, he, presumably being the only person in Virginia City besides her ever affable sister who could really gain a measure of the loss she felt and reflect it back in kind.

Juliette, for her part, had been dreadfully upset to be heading home, as much for the sense of leaving behind the Cartwright's as Delphine herself. Predictably Adam featured heavily in her farewell, hardly able to wrench his hand from her crushing embrace as she squeezed it earnestly, and at one point pushed it to her breast, still gushing the gratitude and platitudes she'd been spouting since stepping off the stage the first time around,

"_Let us not say goodbye, I couldn't bear it, let us instead say farewell and leave me with the promise you will come to visit us…all of you, such kind and generous hosts, such a kind family. Indeed kindness is too vague a quality to be measured, but were it to be, yours would fill rivers and flood the seas…"_

With the exception of the ever polite and attentive Hoss, they'd all stopped listening fairly early on.

The bulk of the legal matters concerning Ross and Delphine were going to be dealt with in St. Louis, with Ben offering his services for any necessities closer to home. Part of Adam wondered if he shouldn't have offered, but somehow the thought of straightening up and signing the place over to new owners would be a task too much – it would just be too painful. Sensing as much, Ben had stepped in instead.

It was as they'd climbed aboard the stage that Lilliana Barber had paused beside Adam, looking him over with a final – but for once non-judgemental – sweeping glance before seemingly solving some internal struggle,

"I'd like you to have this Mr. Cartwright," she'd started formally, passing across a flat, wrapped parcel, "A memento," she'd continued as he'd looked back at her in confusion.

"Thank you," he'd replied, not knowing exactly what he was replying to but feeling it only proper. She'd patted him gently on the hand in response, smiling for the first time,

"Take care of them both for me won't you?"

He hadn't needed to ask to whom she was referring, nodding solemnly,

"Of course."

"Goodbye Adam."

He'd helped her up into the stage with a smile of his own, watching her settle beside her sister,

"Goodbye Lilliana, Juliette."

It wasn't until the stage had pulled away that Adam had slowly unwrapped the strings from the parcel, prompted by a curious-sounding, 'What'cha get Adam?' from Little Joe, who had apparently been voicing the question the rest of them were thinking.

"I don't know."

Ripping off the last of the paper and holding the item up, they all crowded round to watch as the smiling faces of Ross and Delphine came into view. It was a painting, one of Delphine's judging by the brush strokes. It was a new one, but Adam knew it all the same, or at least half of it, because that was how it had been when he'd last seen it. She'd been working on it for their anniversary – the one they'd never properly been able to celebrate – and the likeness of their features momentarily made Adam's breath catch in his throat.

"Where're you going to hang it?" Joe had asked, interpreting the silence and moving to counter the growing melancholia.

Adam hadn't answered, instead letting his father throw a supportive hand across his shoulders and do the talking,

"We'll think of somewhere."

Nor had he been lying, as soon as they'd arrived home, the picture hanging had been the first area of business to attend to, both he and Little Joe throwing themselves into the issue of placement with due severity. In fact it had been what they were still debating as Adam had smiled softly and headed out onto the porch to watch the afternoon's rays turn from yellow to bright orange across the wide vista.

Sitting down on the step and gingerly resting his injured arm against his knee, he quickly became lost in his own thoughts and memories, the process now seeming almost a daily duty, albeit one that was becoming harder. Slowly he was starting to think of Ross with a smile, away from the mess of his final months and away from the sadness and grief. Occasionally though he'd get a flash, a flash of himself firing that final bullet and Ross falling backwards. It still wasn't guilt, but it left his head spinning all the same.

He barely even registered Hoss until his younger brother had lowered himself down beside him, glancing his way and seemingly reading his thoughts,

"Adam, you had to do it, there just weren't no other way,"

Adam blinked, his gaze taking in the familiar sights before them but little else. Sometimes, for all his actions otherwise, Hoss could be intuitive to the point of psychic. He could also be a pretty good listener,

"Those last few minutes," Adam offered eventually after a reflective pause and sharing with his brother something he'd not shared with anyone before yet couldn't quite think why, "He was just like we always knew him,"

Feeling the statement – and the pain it carried – keenly, Hoss' expression became instantly regretful, mustering at the last moment to accompany his own brand of sincere, helpful and downright philosophical counsel, rare but precious with it.

"Well," he mumbled before finding his conviction, "He was a friend then wasn't he? He didn't die a stranger."

Holding in his feelings of surprise, Adam turned to look at the bigger man with a curious expression, part-revelation, part-appreciation and still more than a little tired. Reading it knowingly, Hoss smiled and turned to slap Adam on the back.

No more needed to be said.

Standing almost as one, they turned towards the house in step, Hoss glancing across at his older brother one last time before throwing an arm of solidarity around his shoulders and grinning wider as they stepped into the house.

"Hey Adam," Little Joe was before him, calm but looking pleased with himself, "Want to see where we hung the picture?"

Adam smiled,

"Sure."

Ben was in on it too, the matter obviously having taken some discussion,

"Right this way son," he ushered, as, flanked by the entire household he was led off to admire their new addition.

Adam smiled as they walked, unable to help himself as he took in the silent intensity of his gathered family, there for him as much in that moment as they had been a week ago – as they would be always. Stopping him in front of the newly hung portrait, Little Joe looked over with a smile, his tone hopeful,

"That all right Adam?"

Looking up at it, his older brother smiled in response, unable to tear his eyes from the two people who he'd known so well, whom he'd loved so dearly. Aware that his youngest brother was waiting for an answer however, he nodded belatedly, knowing what the question really meant,.

"I'm all right Joe," he offered, finally looking across at his father and brothers and smiling as he felt the words start to hit home, start to mean something, "I'm all right."

End.


End file.
